The Courtship of Clark & Lois
by sienna27
Summary: Universe G - Story 2 of 2: New Girl'verse tale, Hotch and Emily begin dating, late season three. ** 04/02/16 - STORY ON HIATUS, CM MUSE ON THE FRITZ **
1. Guns & Roses

**Author's Note: ** It's here!

If you're new 'to me' this is Story 2, in Universe G. You probably want to read Story 1 (The Lonely Hearts Club) to see how we got to where we are.

Opening with Emily, gearing up for their first date night, dinner.

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**_Twitter: ffsienna27 _**_– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

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_**Tumblr**: **cmfanficprompts **\- As implied from the title, CM fanfic prompts and pics. Jointly run w/KaviLeighanna._

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**Prompt Set #44 (November 2012)**

Show: 90210

Title Challenge: Sweaty Palms and Weak Knees

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_**Early March - 2008**_

**Guns &amp; Roses**

On Wednesday, during her lunch hour, Emily went to have her nails done at her favorite (work adjacent) manicuring salon over at the Dumfries Plaza Shopping Center. And the reason she was getting her nails done randomly in the middle of the work week, was because she was so flipping EXCITED about her date the next night with Hotch!

Yes, Hotch . . . she squirmed slightly with anticipation as Lieu deftly buffed her sad, 'chewed down by two weeks of anxiety ridden relationship drama' nails, back into shape . . . the crankiest, sexiest, _DIMPLIEST_, man that she knew! He'd come over the night before to tell her that he was now (happily) divorced, and to ask her if she'd be interested in now becoming his numero uno, squeeze.

Okay, well he didn't say THAT . . . she was pretty sure that he was physiologically incapable of stringing that series of words into a sentence that would actually leave his mouth . . . but that was _basically_ what he'd said. That he was now free to start seeing her, if she wanted to start seeing him. And given that she'd already told him a few weeks earlier that she wanted to start seeing _him,_ essentially . . . for the first time EVER . . . her personal life was aligning almost like she didn't have the worst recorded taste/luck in the world, with the opposite sex. It was really a bit of a miracle.

So much so that she was sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Not actually with Hotch himself . . . she knew that he would never have taken last night's step if he wasn't sure about his own feelings . . . but more that she'd found her karma tended to even itself out. So if she was about to start what would_, hopefully _(please God), be a happy, fun, intellectually, emotionally and sexually fulfilling relationship with a man . . . a novelty for her . . . then something, somewhere else, was about to hit the skids.

It was the Law of Emily.

But for the moment, as she pointed to the picture of the plain white French manicure that Lieu held up in the catalog in front of her, Emily decided to just keep on enjoying the high ride that she was on. Basically she was floating on, well . . . her brow wrinkled slightly . . . not Cloud _Nine,_ not yet. Maybe after they had sex she'd be on Nine. But she was definitely on Cloud Seven . . . with the elevator button double punched for Cloud Eight.

Cloud Eight would be tomorrow night when their 'date' actually began.

Hence the manicure.

Though she wasn't quite sure yet where they were going . . . this was information that Hotch had not yet shared . . . she knew that it would definitely be somewhere nice, and she wanted to look pretty. And her nails had . . . she gave them a sad head shake as Lieu broke out the nude polish . . . _seriously_, taken one for the team this last week. Biting them was her go to stress release. After vodka.

And sex.

But she'd been out of vodka, and she was waiting on Hotch to figure out if he was getting divorced. So without him or his penis being available . . . it's not like she was going to pick up some random dude in a bar when she was trying to process her growing feelings for another man . . . sex wasn't really a go to option either.

But now it would be.

And her eyes crinkled slightly as she flashed back on the amazing kiss that Hotch had given her at the door the night before. So yeah, there were all kinds of fun stress releasers on the table now.

And she couldn't wait to start trying them out!

/*/*/*/*/*/

"God, you're ugly as shit."

With that dismissive expletive, another long forgotten (ugly as shit) item from the back of Emily's closet, went flying over her shoulder and onto the unmade bed. It was just after six-thirty Thursday evening, she was freshly showered, and moisturized, standing naked in the middle of her bedroom, trying to figure out what the hell to wear. It was a ridiculously difficult decision.

Especially given that she'd already DECIDED on her outfit, the night before!

She was planning on a very simple, basic black, cocktail dress. It was mid-thigh with a little flare in the skirt and a nicely, low cut bust line. But not _slutty_ cut, just . . . perfect. It was basically the best little black dress she'd found in years. And when she'd decided the night before that she was going to wear it, she'd taken it out of her closet, and placed the hangar on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

There were a few wrinkles in the bodice area, and she'd wanted them to steam out.

And she'd been ALL set to slip into her de-wrinkled dress post shower, when suddenly she'd spotted something in the bright light of the bathroom, that she'd previously missed when she was pulling the little dress out of the moderately lit master bedroom closet.

A stain.

A MUSTARD stain, to be precise.

Big freaking yellow mustard stain, on the seat of the skirt. And she had no idea where it had come from . . . it's not like she was eating hot dogs out of her ASS(!) . . . but somehow she must have sat in the condiment the last time that she'd worn the dress, and then totally missed it when she hung it back in the closet. So now she was looking for a backup outfit, when no backup had even been CONSIDERED! And for some reason, half of the things that she was finding were obnoxiously bright, print dresses, skirts, and shirts, that she must have been drunk when she bought.

Or maybe she'd just been going through a phase.

A terrible, _terrible_, animal print phase. But either way . . . she scowled as another zebra pattern was kicked to the curb/bed, the lack of 'normal' (read, non-migraine inducing) patterns, was starting to seriously stress her out.

But then her fingers touched on something soft and shimmery, and her eyes lit up.

Oh . . . she pulled it off the hangar . . . she'd forgotten about this one! It had been an impulse purchase at Nordstrom's. Not that she'd had any place to wear it at the time, but it was a 'spring into fall' sale, and the dress was just too pretty to pass up.

Well, at sixty percent off, it had been too pretty to pass up.

At its full original price of three hundred and . . . her eyes widened when she looked at the tag still hanging off it . . . ninety eight dollars . . . damn . . . it would have still been hanging by its sad little self on the 'last season' discount rack.

But when she held up the silky coral material with the sparkly mesh yoke, she turned to look in the full length mirror, she knew . . . her eyes crinkled . . . it was just perfect for tonight. It was pretty, and elegant, but not _too_ elegant (if there was such a thing) if all they ended up doing was just having dinner.

Again, she still wasn't sure if that's all they were doing.

Hotch hadn't mentioned anything besides dinner, but he _had_ said that he was picking her up at seven, which was definitely early enough . . . if their reservation was at seven-thirty, likely given that they were only ten minutes outside the city . . . for him to have planned an evening that included more than just packing on the feedbag.

So with her outfit for the evening (once again) chosen, Emily went about quickly pulling the rest of her unpulled together self, together.

The clock was starting to tick.

The first thing that she put on was her best white lace, no line, Victoria Secret underwear, with matching strapless bra. Given the previous . . . amorous . . . activities that she'd engaged in with Hotch, sex, though not necessarily _planned_, was a distinct possibility. Which meant that all layers needed to be perfect.

Just in case.

But once her girl parts were all lace enclosed . . . and she slipped on a matching garter just for fun, Hotch's fun . . . she headed into the bathroom to do her makeup.

After a second of tapping her freshly manicured tips on the counter, she decided to go with light earth tones for the shadow and her lips.

And then a little mascara, blush . . . and then hair.

For that, she decided to try something a little different. A loose chignon with her bangs on a side sweep. And it came out looking pretty freaking good even if she did say so herself. So with her top part now as prettied up as she going to get, she headed back out to the bedroom to hitch on her rarely worn thigh holster.

Even if she was now dating Superman, a girl on the town still needed her Glock.

And once the holster was on, and her off-duty Glock slipped into it, she finally picked up the piece de resistance . . . the dress itself. A dress which she very carefully shimmied down over her fancy 'do . . . cleared that pretty well . . . her 'perky bosom' . . . a bit snug . . . and then her full hips.

Even more snug.

But once she'd tugged and wriggled and rearranged the girls . . . and then arranged them again when she saw that one was crooked . . . the tight silk was falling over all of her curves in the proper shimmery fashion. And as she turned to look at herself in the mirror, her eyes immediately crinkled as her lips curved.

Yep, perfect.

Eh . . . her brow wrinkled as her gaze dropped down to the reflection of the dress' slit . . . almost perfect.

Gun was peeking.

But after some not so ladylike dress flipping, and holster hoisting, everything was nicely . . . though somewhat obscenely . . . tucked out of sight. Funny though, she chuckled to herself, if anybody besides Hotch tried to put his hand up her skirt, that would be one hell of a surprise. But somehow . . . she went over to pull her heels out of the closet . . . she knew that it wouldn't phase him a bit.

And after slipping on her only twice worn strappy silver, open toed heels . . . they went perfectly with the sparkly mesh yoke on the dress, and bonus, she could show off the nice French pedicure she got too . . . Emily found a pair of silver dangles to match all the rest of the shiny bits. Then she spritzed on some of her good perfume, did a final check of her hair and makeup . . . good, and good . . . threw her phone and a few tissues into her silver evening clutch, and headed out of the bedroom with the little purse tucked under her arm.

She'd taken two steps out of the room before she turned around to run back in to get her lipstick and powder from the bathroom. She threw them into the clutch.

And she was just walking back out into the upstairs hallway, when she heard the doorbell . . . and she broke into a huge grin. He was here!

Yay!

And though her instinct was to run down to let him inside . . . cool and collected be damned, this was a big night(!) . . . her heels were three inches tall.

There would be no 'running' down the stairs.

But still she hurried along as quickly as she could and not break her neck. All the while yelling, "be right there, Hotch!" as she clip clopped down the staircase.

And then two seconds later she was hurrying down the front hall, and checking the peep hole . . . never assume the person who rang the bell, was the person you're expecting . . . and whipping the door open.

"Hey," she greeted him with a breathless grin, "how you doing?"

Hotch's eyebrow slowly inched up as he took in Emily's beautiful face, and then the curve hugging dress.

"You look gorgeous," he said with an appreciative nod. And then his eyes dropped back down to her fabulous legs, and he added with a smirk, "so where's your gun?"

And she burst out laughing.

"If you're a good boy," she chuckled, "you just might get to find out."

Of course that would be his first question. And once more . . . her eyes crinkled as she reached out to take his hand . . . she was getting a really good feeling about this relationship.

Hotch's lips twitched as Emily tugged him over the threshold.

"Trust me," he shot back with a wolfish grin, "I will be on my _best_ behavior." And then he sobered slightly, and his expression softened as he gave Emily's fingers a squeeze, "but you really do look beautiful, Emily."

Though he felt that this was simply a statement of empirical fact . . . she _was_ beautiful, it was not a matter of opinion . . . still he saw her lips curve in a shy smile right before she whispered a, "thanks," and popped up to press a kiss to his cheek. And then she brushed her thumb over his skin to rub away the faint tint before she turned to shut and lock the door behind him.

While she was turned away, he took his other arm out from behind his back.

"I brought you these," he said as she turned to face him again, "I figured we still did that," his brow inched up, "right?"

Red roses. It was a first date requirement.

At least it used to be.

"Oh," Emily's eyes started to sting as she saw the dozen long stems in Hotch's hand, "they're so pretty." Then she looked up at him with a watery smile,

"Thank you. And no," she huffed slightly as she reached out to take the bouquet, "your gender doesn't do the flower thing as often as you guys used to. I think it's been about ten, twelve months since a man has given me flowers. And even then, I think it was like carnation day at a Nats game, or something, and he got it for free."

That was already the second tick in the Pro Hotch Relationship Column . . . and they weren't even out the door yet!

"Hmm," Hotch frowned slightly as he followed Emily into the kitchen and she put her purse on the counter, "well, that's not right. You should be getting flowers all the time." But seeing the slightly embarrassed smile Emily gave him, he knew that wasn't the case. And that bothered him. That she hadn't been treated as well as she should have been.

Even if was just a little thing like flowers.

But of course the little things . . . he felt a churning in his gut as he thought back over the years to Emily's occasionally awkward and less self-assured moments . . . they never were.

So when she turned away to start unwrapping the paper around the flowers, he walked up behind her.

Though for a brief moment he hesitated before reaching out.

It was funny, even though he felt perfectly comfortable kissing her, touching her whenever he so chose, that was still new. But after he'd reminded himself that it was allowed now . . . and very much, welcomed now . . . he slipped his arm around her waist. Then he pressed his lips to her ear.

"We'll do flowers once a week, okay? We'll get those numbers to even out."

Feeling a warmth spreading out from her chest and down to her toes, Emily's eyes snapped closed. And as her free hand clutched Hotch's wrist where it was pressed against her stomach, she whispered back.

"That's very sweet, but you don't have to do that."

"That was a rhetorical question," he murmured back with a kiss to her neck, "you deserve flowers, you should get flowers. Now," he continued softly against her skin, "what are your favorite kind?"

Emily huffed slightly as she tried to blink the tears from her eyes . . . okay, he was totally going to spoil her rotten for all other men.

And then she turned around in his arms.

"I like daisies," she answered with a faintly watery smile, "gerbera daisies. They're a happy little flower."

"Yeah," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he flashed on the daisies he'd seen in the flower shop, "I guess they are kind of a happy little flower."

That wasn't a thought that would ever have occurred to him on his own. But it was always nice when he caught a glimpse of the world through Emily's eyes. And as he looked down at her, he was thinking about the daisies that would have matched her dress. And then she gave him a little smile, and he gave her a wink in return.

Then he leaned down and gave her a light peck on the lips.

Though he really wanted to give her a proper kiss, he could see that her makeup was freshly applied. And he didn't want to be a jerk and mess it all up. Not before they'd even walked out the door.

That was for when he brought her home.

"So are you all ready to go?" He asked softly as he pulled away, licking the corner of his mouth. And she nodded and sniffed as she brushed her thumb over his lower lip, "yep." Then her smile brightened, "just have to put my flowers in some water. Actually, can you um," her gaze shifted up and over his shoulder as she patted his chest, "please get me a vase? They're in that cabinet on the left, behind you. Top shelf. I can't really reach without climbing on the counter, and," she smirked, "this isn't really a good counter climbing, dress."

"No," his lips twitched as he patted her hip, "no, it's not."

So he let her go, to turn and get the vase down from the cabinet. And once he'd filled it with water, she tucked the newly trimmed buds down into the glass.

After a moment's fluffing and rearranging, she muttered a, "perfect" to herself, and then smiled as she turned to look up at him.

"K, ready."

Hotch's eyebrow inched up.

"What about your coat?"

"But," Emily frowned as she looked down at her silky dress, "I'm pretty."

"Yes," Hotch cleared his throat to hide the laughter that started to bubble up, "that's true, you're very pretty. But you'll still be pretty with a coat."

"But nobody will see how pretty I am if I have a coat on," Emily responded with a faint pout. "I mean really Hotch, I NEVER get dressed up like this anymore. It was fun," then her gaze dropped down as her voice dropped, "but I guess nobody's going to see it."

Yes, she knew that she sounded kind of silly. But it was true. It was rare these days that she went anywhere REALLY nice, so it was doubly rare that she could get dressed up REALLY nice. And she wasn't quite so young and 'bouncy' as she used to be. So she just kind of wanted to flaunt it a little bit.

If that didn't sound too pathetic.

Which it probably did.

"Prentiss," Hotch said softly as he reached out to lift Emily's chin, "I promise," his eyes locked onto hers, "that when the weather warms up, we will go to more nice places, and you can wear more pretty things," his eyes crinkled, "and all the other women will hate you because you're so much more beautiful than they are. But tonight," he gave her a little smile as his thumb brushed her jaw, "I do think that you need a coat. It's March. Even _I _need a coat, and you know I'm never cold."

Emily looked up at Hotch with a sheepish smile.

"Okay," she agreed with a pat to his arm, "I'll get a coat." And then she rolled her eyes slightly, "sorry for being silly, I was just, you know," she huffed, "girl stuff."

"It's okay," his expression softened, "I like it when you're silly. You know, work is hard and it's sad, but you being you," he nodded seriously, "you make things better. You make all those other things a little less awful." Then he huffed slightly, "and now that I've said that out loud, I'm not sure it if sounded like the compliment that it was intended to be."

"No," Emily smiled as she blinked away the moisture forming in her eyes, "no, that sounded just fine," she popped up on her toes to give him a kiss, "thank you."

And then she patted his chest, and slipped around him to go over to the front hall closet. A second later she came out with her best black wool. Hotch helped her slip it on.

"Still beautiful," he whispered with a wink as he fixed her buttons.

And she bit her lip and squeezed her fists, and wondered what the hell was wrong with Haley that she would have given this man away. But then she pushed the thought aside.

Eh, whatever, better that he was hers than Haley's.

Screw that crazy bitch.

Once Emily was buttoned up, Hotch picked up her keys from the hall table, and handed her the purse that she'd left on the kitchen counter. Then he put his arm around her waist, and started walking her down the front hall. When she got to the door, she stopped to look up at him.

"I just wanted you to know," she whispered, "I'm going to have a really good time tonight."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached past her to put his hand on the knob.

"Well, what if your food is cold," he asked with a touch of amusement while reaching past her to pull the door open, "or somebody steps on your foot?"

"Won't matter," she responded with a soft smile, "it's going to be great." Then she winked.

"Trust me."

Then she stepped out into the hall and started walking down to the elevator. And Hotch stared after her for a moment, feeling a faint warmth in his chest. Finally his lip quirked up.

Yeah . . . he nodded to himself . . . it was going to be a good night.

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_A/N 2: And there we go. One more ball being juggled in the air :) Now, long note._

_First, if you want to see Em's dress (or buy it) it exists. At Nordstrom's. You can see a pic on my Tumblr post. I do enjoy fancy dress shopping for her, because I get to pick out things I never would (or could :)) pick out for myself._

_My idea as a projection for the storyline is to perhaps mirror some of the other Girl stories, in some ways. Like here, I had the Arrangement in mind as I started it. That story is about them getting together initially, (about 2 months before this same timeframe) solely for physical bonding, and here, they'd realized the emotional attachment first. And as both opening chapters covered their first time getting together after they'd made this decision to 'couple up,' I thought it was a good blueprint. So this chapter, like The Arrangement, stayed primarily with Emily, covering her thoughts and actions while she got ready for Hotch's arrival. The lingerie versus the dresses. And then Hotch's reaction to her at the door. And then the flowers, that was a shimmer of the 'gala chapter' in Girl :) But then everything has been reimagined for this other world, with this earlier, slightly different, version of them. A version where Hotch wasn't pushed to the limit with Haley and still trying to hang on, right up to the end. This Hotch has already realized that when he looked at Emily, he could see potential there that he no longer could, with Haley. So he made a choice to move on. It wasn't a decision that was forced on him. That's a big character shift. Because outside of Second Chances, that difference puts him ahead of most of the other Girl'verse versions of Hotch at this point in calendar time. That's why I'm kind of excited to write this one. It's sort of like having the more easy going version of Hotch you get later in Girl (and universe C) because here he's already in 'relationship mode' but without so much of the angsting that he had to go through elsewhere. So they're learning things about each other, and they can be 'romantic' and it's all fresh and new._

_And the title of the story, Clark and Lois, as I mentioned from Lonely Hearts, is also a thread pulled from around the girl'verses. And I was kind of ridiculously happy with the chapter title too, because I got to the end, and I didn't know what I was going to call it (I never do until I'm all done) and then I opened my prompts database, (has like 3000 fields in it) and it just popped off the page as like the third line down :)_

_I do have chapter two half written, and a concrete idea for chapters three and four :) so we'll probably see this one in the lineup for a bit. But I'm still working on other stuff too. The never ending, bounce :)_

_Thanks for reading everyone. Hope you're excited. But of course if you're just, 'God, ANOTHER one' that's cool too! :) I think I've said, if you stick with me long enough, we might get to Universe Z. Which will be the Zombie Apocalypse… of course ;) _


	2. Cracker Jack Prizes

**Author's Note**: Continuing on with date night. And thanks everybody for the response to chapter one :)

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**Prompt Set #21 (August)**

Show: Friday Night Lights

Title Challenge: I Think We Should Have Sex

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**Cracker Jack Prizes**

Emily stepped off the ramp to the parking garage and onto the sidewalk running up 35th Street.

"Brrr," she shivered, pulling her woolen lapels closer when the cross wind suddenly blasted her from the East, "it's cold out."

Hotch's lips twitched as he looked down at her.

"Wow, good thing you brought a coat, huh?"

And she grinned.

"It is," she leaned up to give him a kiss, murmuring with a smirk as she pulled away, "smart man told me I might need one."

With a good natured eye roll, Hotch tucked the parking stub into his pocket before reaching over to take Emily's hand. As they began walking up the street, wading around the other pedestrians, she leaned against his side.

"So are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

"Oh yeah," he huffed slightly, "sorry, I thought I had. Uh, 1789. Reservation is for seven-thirty."

"Oooh," Emily shot him a little grin, "_fancy_, fancy dinner. Did you have any problem getting a primetime reservation at the last minute?"

"No," Hotch's eyes crinkled as he looked down at her, "when I left your place on Tuesday, I stopped in and flirted with the hostess."

Emily burst out laughing.

"Wow, you kissed me goodbye, and then you went straight out, flashing those dimples around town?"

"Basically," Hotch tipped his head, "yes. But it saved me the hundred bucks it probably would have cost otherwise if I'd had to actually bribe her. I told her we'd been dating for two years, that I forgot your birthday on Sunday, realized it on _Tuesday_, and I needed a special way to make it up to you." He nodded, "she was very sympathetic."

And though he knew that he should have felt a bit guilty about lying to the poor girl . . . she was maybe twenty-five . . . he didn't. Because the kind of people who frequented 1789, were the kind of people who could afford to blow a _minimum _of a hundred dollars on a single meal. So it's not like he was cutting in for a reservation in front of the 'poor' or 'needy,' or even, 'middle class.'

Most of the clientele at this restaurant, could buy and sell his ass ten times over.

"Gee Hotch," Emily's mouth quivered, "I didn't know you had it in you to use your psychological insights for purely selfish gains," she nodded firmly, "I like it. And for the record," she shot him a look, "now that we're going out, you should know that you _would_ be in very big trouble if you didn't remember my birthday until two days after it had actually ended."

Hotch tipped his head.

"Well, given that I almost forgot it last year, trust me," he rolled his eyes, "the date is now burned into my brain. October fourteenth." Then a thought occurred to him and his eyebrow inched up as he looked down, "it's your fortieth this year. Do you want a party?"

Though they were officially just on their first date, Hotch was pretty confident about the longevity of this relationship. His feelings for Emily had been slowly deepening over the last few months, as he'd found out hers had been for him. So he was sure that they were . . . if not in it for the 'long' haul, time would tell on their compatibility there . . . at least they were in it for the foreseeable future.

And Emily's fortieth birthday was definitely a "foreseeable" event on the horizon.

Feeling a tickle of amusement that Hotch was planning dates six months in advance . . . very cute, very Hotch, and not the SLIGHTEST bit surprising . . . Emily chuckled.

"No, that's necessary. Some flowers and sex will suffice," her eyes crinkled, "thanks."

They'd just reached the front of the restaurant and Hotch looked down at her with a little smile.

"Noted."

Then he reached out to grab the brass handle on the door, moving back slightly to let Emily go in ahead of him. Once inside, they headed to the maitre'd station.

After they'd been marked off as arriving, the girl . . . the same one from Tuesday . . . gave them a bright smile while asking them to please wait for a moment.

And then she disappeared into one of the dining rooms.

After exchanging a look . . . that was curious . . . Hotch and Emily took the opportunity to go drop off their coats.

As Hotch was collecting the ticket, he heard the hostess call his name. He turned to see her gesturing for him to come back, so he started over to the desk.

Before she followed after Hotch, Emily paused for a second to brush a loose thread from the skirt of her dress. But then she heard a, "psst, miss," being called out softly from the coat check girl just behind her.

So she turned, her eyebrow raised in polite confusion. "Who, me?"

"Yes ma'am," the girl continued in the same hushed tone, "it's your dress," she discretely pointed towards her back while mouthing, "your tag is showing."

Emily's eyes widened.

Crap.

And she half spun around trying to see where it was hanging down. Then she realized that she probably looked like a dog chasing her tale . . . classy . . . and stopped moving. So instead of continuing that approach, she opted to back up the few steps to the coat check desk, and just ask the girl over her shoulder.

"Where?" She whispered.

The girl poked her rib up by her left armpit, "there."

After a moment of trying to discretely reach under her arm to either yank the thing off or tuck it into her dress, she discovered that it was actually _impossible_ to discretely reach under your arm.

You just looked like you were trying to make those disgusting armpit noises.

Great.

And Emily was just about to ask the girl if she might have a pair of scissors somewhere back in her little coat booth, when she saw Hotch walking back over.

His eyebrow was raised in confusion.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he stopped in front of her.

She rolled her eyes, "apparently I forgot to take the tag off my dress." Her head jerked slightly to the left, "and now it's flapping in the breeze back there."

Thank God, this wasn't their ACTUAL first outing together. She'd come across looking like the biggest doofus on the planet. Which . . . on some days . . . she was.

But fortunately Hotch was already aware of that fact.

Feeling a wave of amusement and affection for the woman in front of him . . . only Emily . . . Hotch's eyes crinkled as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Let me see," he said while turning her around.

"Well," Emily shifted while eyeballing the other . . . VERY well dressed, tag less . . . patrons in the lobby of the restaurant, "okay, but can you move a little closer. This is embarrassing."

"It's not a big deal Prentiss," Hotch whispered while pulling his key ring out of his pocket, "and nobody's paying any attention, so let me just," he slipped his office key between his thumb and index fingers, "see if I can cut it off. And if I can't, I'll just tuck it back into your dress. It must have been in there before or else I would have noticed it at the apartment."

And then he started sawing the little piece of plastic, holding the paper tag with his other hand. A second later it popped off into his palm.

"And there we go," his eyes crinkled slightly as he held it up between them, "public humiliation averted." Then his eyebrow inched up, "hey, I didn't know you were a size . . ."

"Give me that," Emily scowled as she snatched the tag from his fingers.

Hotch chuckled as he pulled her into a hug.

"I was just teasing," he whispered with a quick kiss to her temple, "and you don't have any pockets, so how about you give that back to me? Because you know with your luck, if you tuck it down your top, it's liable to fall out into soup."

"Yeah," Emily huffed against his chest, "it probably would." So she slipped the tag back into his hand, and he in turn slipped it into his pocket.

"You ready to eat now?" he asked with a pat to her back. "The hostess said we're all set. She was getting us a table in the F. Scott room. And apparently the chef is preparing a chocolate mousse for you as well.

Emily looked up at him with an amused smirk.

"And that would be a consolation prize for my missed birthday?"

He shrugged.

"It was a good story."

/*/*/*/*/*/

Hotch had just put a bite of mushroom into his mouth when he heard Emily ask, "so when do you want to have sex?"

And he ended up choking the mushroom back up.

"Excuse me," he asked with a garbled cough/swallow while reaching for his glass of water, "what made you ask me that question, at THIS moment?"

"Well," Emily pouted slightly as she simultaneously leaned across the table and lowered her voice, "I was just thinking how cute you looked with your new haircut, and then I was thinking, 'man, I could totally drag him into the ladies room and just jump him right now,' and then I realized that we hadn't talked about sex at all since we decided to do this dating thing, and I didn't want to have an awkward pause later tonight if I suddenly jumped you in the parking lot, and then you said, 'whoa, wait what's happening,' so I figured I should get this one cleared up now before you decide that you don't want see me anymore because you think I'm some kind of super slutty chick that puts out on the first date, in the parking lot no less. Which," she scowled slightly as she waved her hand, "I _don't_. I don't do that on the first date, and definitely not in the parking lot. But it's not like we just met at Starbucks, I've known you, _technically_, for almost two decades. So I'm not sure if this really counts as a 'first' date or not." She tipped her head, "And you know I'm kind of yes or no on that point too, because we didn't talk about that either."

By the time Emily paused to take a breath . . . literally her first one . . . Hotch's mouth was quivering.

"You were thinking _all_ that, huh?" He asked with obvious amusement.

Good God, she was adorable. And thank God they were in a corner table of the restaurant. Even in her hushed tone, that was _DEFINITELY_ a question that would have caught a 'neighbor patron's' attention.

Then he saw Emily nod back.

"Yes," Emily answered as she leaned back in her chair, "yes, I was. So," she sighed, "back to my original question, when do you want to have sex?"

"Well, what's your . . ."Hotch pursed his lips, trying to think of the most delicate phrasing of his question. Finally he finished with, "guideline?"

That seemed polite.

"Minimum three to four dates," she answered before a thought came to her and she tipped her head, "I went to seven once but," her nose wrinkled, "he finished well before the ref blew the whistle, so in retrospect I should have gone with my initial instincts that he was never going to be ready to put on the uniform."

Really the whole relationship should just be wiped from the stat list.

"All right," Hotch's eyes crinkled in amusement, "then removing Mr. 'Couldn't Go The Distance' from the list, that leaves us at three to four. Which would you prefer?"

"I already told you," Emily shot him a frown across the table, "I'd _prefer _to go home TONIGHT, and mess up your shiny new haircut."

God, what did she need here to make her point? A signal guy with FLARES waving him in to the Thong Zone?!

Hotch chuckled.

"Well," he huffed slightly while giving her an indulgent head shake, "we don't ACTUALLY have to have," he mouthed, "_intercourse,_ for you to mess up my new haircut. You can just do that in the car. So how about," he drummed his fingers on the table, "we count the years of prior relationship as equaling one date, and then we go with two more formal ones? That way tonight will count as the second, and then when our next date concludes, we'll just play it by ear from there. How's that sound?"

Emily's brow inched up.

"One more date? Okay," she nodded slowly, "that works." Then she grinned. "So what are you doing tomorrow?"

And he burst out laughing.

"Sorry, Prentiss," he shook his head sadly, "but I have a previously set engagement with a charming dinner companion."

Seeing her eyes widen slightly, he added with little smile.

"Jack. Remember, I have him Friday to Sunday."

"Oh!" Emily let out her breath, "right. Right, right."

Jesus, she'd had freaking heart attack that he was already getting picked up by some floozy! Granted he'd only had the ring off for a week, but desperate women POUNCED on a specimen like him!

Really, she was just lucky she had 'dibs!'

And though she was totally fine with Hotch's suggested guideline . . . or at least agreeable enough that it was a reasonable delay if they couldn't actually just do it tonight . . . she couldn't resist teasing him a bit. So as she saw him go to pick up his fork again, she leaned across the table.

"It's too bad you vetoed sex tonight," she shook her head sadly, "I had a good Cracker Jack surprise for you to find."

That would be the white lace garter, currently sitting VERY high up her leg.

Hotch scowled.

"Hey, I said no to sex, not no to a scavenger hunt." He winked, "I'll find my prize."

Emily giggled as she leaned back in her seat.

"Can't wait."

*/*/*/*/*

When they arrived back at her apartment, it was a little after ten. Dinner plus a short walk around Georgetown for Emily to do some window shopping, had been their only stops. And as Hotch walked Emily up to her door, she gave him a little smile as she dug out her keys.

"So can you come in for that drink tonight?" She teased.

His eyes crinkled.

"I can," he answered with a nod and a twitching of his lips, "I can actually stay for a little while."

"Oh good," Emily shot him a saucy smirk while slipping the key into the lock, "we can look over my stamp collection." Then she looked at him over her shoulder, "You do like philately don't you?"

And his mouth quivered.

"I do enjoy a good stamp collection, yes."

"Good," she winked, "I have one to show you."

And she pushed the door open, and stepped inside. She'd only gone three steps down the hall before hearing the sounds of the door closing and the locks clicking. And though she wished that was an 'in for the night' lock up, she knew that Hotch was unlikely to change his mind about the three date rule they'd discussed.

For whatever his reason . . . maybe just because the divorce was so new . . . he wanted to wait a couple days, and she was trying to be respectful of that.

Even if she personally wanted to just jump his bones.

So instead of doing that thing she really wanted to do . . . rip his clothes off, he was just so damned ADORABLE(!) . . . she let him very solicitously help her with her coat. Then she held onto his arm as she slipped her heels off with a satisfied of groan, "oh yeah, that's it baby," that generated an amused snort from Hotch.

And after she'd tossed those strappy heels over by the stairs, and both of their coats were hung in the closet, she directed Hotch to go make himself comfortable on the couch. Then she went back down the hall to play proper hostess.

Making them both a drink.

Though she had a bottle of Shiraz chilled, she knew that would probably make her sleepy. And besides that, Hotch . . . unfortunately . . . wasn't staying all night. And she knew that an open bottle of wine was an easy invitation to finish off said bottle of wine. But he needed to drive.

Which meant that a single drink would be better.

So she filled a couple of highball glasses with ice, and then covered the ice in Jameson's. It was a beautiful amber liquid.

It smelled good too.

Nice and smoky. And her eyes crinkled as she padded, barefoot, back into the living room carrying the two glasses of whiskey.

"Here you go," she smiled as Hotch hopped up to help her, "proper old timey, end of day nightcap."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Thanks," he said while taking the two glasses before stepping aside for Emily to walk around him.

Once she was settled on the couch, he sat back down, and handed her one of the drinks.

"Should we toast?" she asked, with raised eyebrow. And Hotch nodded seriously.

"Yes, we should. To the pretty girl in the pretty dress, thank you for having dinner with me. And thank you for agreeing to have at least nineteen more."

She laughed.

"You're very welcome," she responded with a chuckle as they clinked glasses. And after they'd each taken a sip, she put her glass down on the table . . . and then she reached over to take his as well.

Then with a little grin, she inched up on her knees and moved over to straddle his lap.

"Time to find the Cracker Jack prize."

*/*/*/*

Over the next thirty minutes, Hotch finished half his drink and found both Emily's Glock . . . and her garter belt. The Glock was on the coffee table . . . the garter had gone somewhere over his shoulder.

As had her thigh holster.

That was a bonus in the Cracker Jack box.

And forty minutes after that, both of their drink were long gone, and Emily's bra had joined the garter belt and holster off in the hinterlands. For his part, Hotch had lost his jacket, his tie and a couple of buttons off his shirt. His sleeves were also rolled up, and he was QUITE sure that he had lipstick smeared over every surface Emily's lips had touched. And God only knew what his hair looked like.

She had most definitely had her opportunity to 'mess it up.'

And also at some point she'd gotten his belt off and his pants unzipped. But he literally had NO idea when that had happened.

All he knew was that suddenly one of her hands was starting to slip inside his boxers . . . and that was unfortunately his cue to start wrapping things up. Because he knew that if he stayed any longer, he was going to have to break the just set three date rule, or else risk permanent damage to his equipment.

So his own wayward hand slid down her thigh and out from under her dress as he mumbled between kisses to her throat.

"I think it's time for me to go."

And he heard a definite moan of discontent coming from Emily.

"But, I don't want you to go," she pouted as her hand gave him a little squeeze, "we're having fun."

Hotch sucked in a breath,

"Yeah," he slowly exhaled as he reached down to capture _Emily's_ wayward fingers, "we are having fun. But if we have any _more_ fun, I'm going to have to go buy a pack of condoms."

"Oh no," Emily exclaimed excitedly as her other hand came up to cup his jaw, "no, no, we don't need condoms! I'm on the pill! And super clean so," she gave him a hopeful smile, "does that mean you can stay?"

Hotch groaned as he dropped his head back to her chest.

God . . . his mouth landed just to the right of her bare nipple . . . the woman was KILLING him! And though he wanted, SO BADLY, to just finish pulling off the rest of her clothes . . . and his as well . . . again, he was TRYING to be responsible!

So he lifted his head.

"We should really stick to your three date rule." He answered regretfully, as he fixed the top of her dress. The sparkly halter part was still hanging down, but at least her breasts were covered again.

Mostly.

"But why, Aaron?" Emily asked with a faintly confused pout, "we've known each other forever. Why do you think we have to wait?"

His expression softened.

"Because if this doesn't work out," he responded quietly, "you know, in the long run, I don't want you to look back and regret anything. And if you have a minimum three date rule, it's because that's how long your brain has decided it needs to become comfortable with taking that step," he gave her a sad smile, "and I don't want to mess up that wonderful brain of yours. I want you to look back, whether I'm sitting next to you or not, and say to yourself, "yeah, that was the perfect night. I'm so glad we waited."

Emily's eyes started to burn as she looked up at him.

"You have to stop being so sweet and perfect," she said with a sniffle, "because you know I'm only trained to deal with jerks."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached out to touch her cheek.

"Sorry, do you want me to stick you with the check next time?" His lip quirked up. "Maybe close your coat in the car door? Would that help?"

"It might," she sniffed and nodded seriously, "a little."

"All right," he leaned over to kiss her forehead, murmuring softly, "I promise next time I'll do something jerky so you can smack me in the arm," he leaned back with a raised eyebrow, "okay?"

She huffed, "okay." Then she took a breath and leaned up to slip her arms around his neck.

Hotch immediately wrapped her up in a hug.

"I had a really, really good time tonight," she whispered as her eyes fell shut.

"Yeah," he gave her a tight squeeze, "me too. Do you have any ideas about you want to do next time?"

"Actually," she leaned back with a little smile, "yeah, I thought maybe we could got to the movies? Monday night they play old movies downtown at The National Theater. And maybe we could get McDonald's after and eat it on a bench at one of the monuments. You know how pretty they are at night." She looked over hopefully, "how's that sound?"

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"I think that sounds perfect."

* * *

_A/N 2: Deliberate mirroring of their closing dialogue in those two sections. Something about this version of them, it's very easy to write them, 'sweet and cute/cuddly.' The courtship title really does help to set a different path than their previous ones. It is fun, and I think I'll stick with their formal date nights for a little bit. It's a fresh approach to write them out and about when mostly, after they're coupled up, they're either home or in the office._

_And the reason the coat check girl had to point out Emily's tag, was because I forgot to have Emily take the tag off the dress in chapter one! I realized it after :) Similar to another chapter in another story where Emily had to point out Hotch forgot his tie . . . because I forgot to put one on him. _

_Anyway, maybe another post tonight. Either way, hope you liked this one! Thanks :)_


	3. A Little Bit of Romance

**Author's Note: **Date two.

* * *

**A Little Bit of Romance**

_Monday_

Hotch's eyebrow inched up as he stood in the doorway of his office looking down over the bullpen.

He was looking for Emily. But Emily . . . even though it was the middle of the afternoon . . . was nowhere to be seen. But then his eyes widened when he spotted her in the break area on the other side of the room . . . ah, getting coffee.

Or maybe tea.

She'd told him that she was trying to cut down a bit on her caffeine. Well, either way at least he'd found her. So after a quick pat of his pants pockets to make sure that he'd grabbed his cell phone off his desk (yes) he slipped around the catwalk and down the side steps into the break area. Emily was just tossing a teabag into the trash.

One mystery solved.

"Hey," he called out softly while sidling up next to her, "how you doing?"

Emily's eyes crinkled at Hotch's arrival, though she only spared a quick glance in his direction. As a rule, they tried not to pay one another any obvious additional attention beyond what would have been 'normal' three weeks earlier. Clearly they had no plans to make out in the bullpen, but still, in a unit like theirs any kind of repeated, close physical contact or, God forbid, 'googly eyes' . . . gag . . . would be very quickly be observed and dissected. And that was because their people were very good at what they did. Ordinarily that was a point of pride for Emily. But unfortunately when it came down to trying to keeping your private life completely private, it could be a real pain in the ass.

Nosy bastards.

"I'm fine," she responded with a quiet hint of amusement while pouring a packet of Splenda into her cup, "and how are you this afternoon?"

_God, he smelled good!_

"Better for seeing you," Hotch whispered back while reaching up to take a mug down from the cabinet, "but I do have some news to share. That LAPD captain I mentioned in the briefing this morning, just scheduled a call for five-fifteen. She's got some stats to run by me about that serial arson case. It shouldn't take more than twenty-five, thirty minutes, but . . ."

". . . but we were supposed to leave at five on the dot." Emily finished quietly.

Shit. Their movie started at six-thirty and they had wanted to change before they went out. And also, and this was key, at the National Theater it was first come, first serve for seats. And if they didn't leave on time, they most definitely wouldn't be 'first come.' They'd be 'last come' and standing out on the sidewalk. And yeah, that phrasing sounded a little bit gross, but whatever. The result was the same.

They'd be screwed.

"Exactly," Hotch agreed with a sigh, "so what do you want to do?"

Of course it would figure that they couldn't even get through their second week together, without work screwing things up. But it wasn't like he could blow off the LAPD arson case, just because he had a new "girlfriend." He bit back another sigh.

Though at the moment, he very much wanted to.

"Um," Emily chewed down on her lip as she turned around to face the bullpen.

"Well, I don't want to cancel," she continued softly while holding her mug up to her mouth, "if that's what you were thinking I might say. Don't forget, this is the official _third_ date," she huffed indignantly, "and no damn fire bug is going to screw up my planned official third date activities. I even have another package for you to unwrap," she subtly bumped his hip, "it's blue."

Blue was Hotch's favorite color. That was a little factoid that she had recently collected during a joint Starbucks coffee run. And God damn it, she was going to wear her cute new blue silk baby doll and have really hot sex tonight with her RIDICULOUSLY adorable new boyfriend, if she had to fly out to LA and hose that shit down herself!

"A _blue_ package?" Hotch half snorted, half coughed as he lifted his coffee mug to his mouth, "can't wait. And yes of course I did not forget that outing two, counts as date _three_. So what? You want me to meet you there so you can be in line for the tickets? Or," a thought came to him and he shifted his gaze down to the floor, "you know we could just see a 'regular' movie a little later. Any show from seven on should work fine. And then we can go to the National Theater next week."

Emily's brow wrinkled.

"Yeah," she bit her lip, "I guess maybe we could do that."

Though the words in her response had been in the affirmative, her tone really was not. And sensing the disappointment that she was trying to hide, Hotch felt a little dig in his chest.

"But you really had your heart set on going there tonight, didn't you?" He asked softly.

Emily looked up at him with a sheepish smile.

"Sort of, but it's okay. You're right," she shrugged, "we can just try again next week."

It was silly to be disappointed. He was right, they could go to a regular theater downtown and still do McDonald's and the walk to the monuments, afterwards. It would basically be the exact same date night that they'd planned.

Mostly.

Hotch stared down at Emily for a moment . . . his teeth were digging into his lip. Then a thought came to him and his gaze shifted up and around the bullpen.

"How about this?" He started his counter proposal, "I give the captain my cell phone and take the hard copy file of information that she emailed _with_ me, when we leave at five sharp. We'll take your car, _you_ drive, and then I can give this woman my undivided attention for whatever questions she has. We'll go to your house first so you can change, and by the time you're ready to go, the call should be done, and we should still be in town well before six. Do you see any flaws there?"

Though 'profiling on the go' was not his favorite thing, as long as he didn't have to drive at the same time that he was on the call, it should be fine.

"Ummm," Emily's brow wrinkled as she ran down the chain of events Hotch had just outlined, "I guess that would work, but," she snapped her eyes over to his, "didn't you want to change too? At least your shoes?"

Though there was really no way that Hotch would put on sneakers and not also change into jeans. Because she was quite sure that in his mind, sneakers with dress pants would just be completely 'unacceptable.' And really, women could get away with it . . . in a pinch anyway . . . but men who did that were just complete dorks.

And the one thing that Aaron Hotchner could NEVER be called, was a dork!

"Yeah, hmm," Hotch's mouth twisted, "good point. But actually my place is on the way to your place. I can run in and grab my walking around clothes, and change at your apartment. So," he looked down at her hopefully, "we have a plan?"

God, he hoped so. He really didn't want to be disappointing her the second week into this relationship.

There was PLENTY of time for him to screw things up later!

Emily stared down at the floor for a second, trying to think of a hiccup in the new plan . . . she couldn't. So she looked up at him with a little grin.

"Yep. I think we're good to go."

"All right then," he shot her a subtle wink, "see you at five."

Then he turned on his heel, and with coffee mug in hand, headed out the way he'd come in . . . up the stairs in the corner.

And though Emily fought the urge to stare after him as he left, she couldn't stop herself from sneaking a little look over to him cutting back around the catwalk. Her lips twitched.

It was going to be a good night.

/*/*/*/*/*

"Oooh, I like this one!" Emily squealed with an excited clap when she spotted the marquee coming up ahead of them down the street.

It was five fifty-three, Hotch's call was done, and they were in town via yellow cab, in casual clothes, right on schedule to line up for their six-thirty film. Their revised plan was coming together perfectly.

And she couldn't have been happier!

But then she heard Hotch chuckle softly from beside her.

"Didn't you look it up to see what they were playing tonight?" He asked as they continued walking down Pennsylvania towards The National Theater. She shook her head.

"No," she looked up at him with a little smile, "I wanted to be surprised. I figured they only run classics so odds were in my favor that it would be a good one. But I especially like the old seventies spy stuff. Plus you know Robert Redford," she smirked, "he's got those adorable dimples."

And those dimples were about to appear in Three Days of the Condor. A perfect D.C. film if there ever was one. And it was a good date night film too.

At least for people like them.

"Hmm," Hotch murmured with a non-committal twitching of his lips. Though he got the inference was actually to HIS dimples, he wasn't about to start gushing about the relative adorability of Robert _Redford's_ dimples.

At least not in public.

So instead he just reached over to catch Emily's fingers. They'd just reached the end of the line . . . a quarter of a block down . . . and he was pleased to see that odds were almost certain that not only would they get inside, but they should have their prime choice of seats too. That was the best case scenario.

They could find a good place to keep an eye on the crowd.

And they were standing in line for a couple minutes, both of them subtly taking in the chatty crew around them . . . an equal mixture of age groups, nobody even slightly suspicious . . . when suddenly Emily let go of his hand and reached over to start fussing with his jacket.

"Prentiss," he started in confusion, "what are you . . ."

But Hotch's question fell away when he realized that at some point in his rush to change, the suede material had bunched up on the side . . . it was catching on his holster.

And Emily was fixing it.

"Ah," he tipped his head as she straightened up, "thank you."

"Not a problem," Emily responded with a soft smile, "just figured that you weren't so incognito as Captain America, flashing your gat around town."

Seeing his lips twitch, she winked and bumped her hip against his. In response he again snagged her fingers with his right hand.

Though this time he tipped his head down slightly.

"So how many snacks am I going to have to buy tonight?" He whispered.

"Well," Emily's lips pursed slightly, "obviously we didn't have dinner yet, so I'm going to say . . . a lot."

Then a thought occurred . . . basically that she didn't want to take advantage of his good nature . . . and she looked up at him.

"Is that okay?" She asked worriedly, "or do you want to split them?"

Feeling a little pull of warmth and amusement . . . only Emily would worry about whether it was an imposition to ask him to buy her extra popcorn . . . Hotch leaned down to press a quick kiss to her temple.

"It's okay," he whispered against her skin, "you don't have to pay for anything."

When he pulled back he saw her looking up at him with a shy smile.

"K, thanks."

She looked so beautiful, and sweet, that Hotch really wanted to kiss her right then. But then he reminded himself that they _were_ standing on a busy DC street at six in the evening. And it wasn't like him to be so openly affectionate in front of others.

Or at least it hadn't been to date.

So he made himself push down the urge . . . though it was difficult . . . and simply sufficed with holding her hand and listening while she began to outline the list of spyland inaccuracies that her dad had pointed out to her the first time that she'd seen tonight's main feature. Of course Hotch was PAINFULLY aware of the technical, and legal, inaccuracies in the majority of films or shows that he'd seen referencing the FBI, but he hadn't thought much about how the CIA's procedures were portrayed.

It was one area where he was somewhat blissfully ignorant.

And so Emily's bullet list was actually quite interesting to him. And he was making a mental note to watch for them when the movie began. Though when she paused to take a breath, he reached out to brush her hair back behind her ears.

"Your face is too pretty to be covered up," he murmured by way of explanation. And see her mouth quiver as a touch of pink touched her cheeks, his eyes crinkled. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

He had brought a surprise for her.

"I did promise once a week," he said while pulling out the slim object, "but you know I didn't have time to run out before we left tonight, so maybe this one you can just add it to the snack pile."

Emily's eyes widened . . . and then filled with tears.

He'd bought her a rose . . . a chocolate one. He'd said he'd bring her flowers once a week, and he was keeping that promise. Even if he had to do it with a little help from Godiva.

Good God how was he so perfect?!

And as she reached out to take it from his hand, she looked up at him with a watery smile.

"Thanks," she sniffed slightly, "I won't eat it tonight though. I want to save it."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Okay, but don't put it in water, I'm pretty sure it'll melt."

"Yeah," she giggled and wiped the corner of her eye, "thanks for the tip." And though she knew that they were hardly alone at the moment, she found herself leaning up to give him a kiss.

When she did, she felt Hotch's hand fall to her hip, just below her holster. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he tugged her closer, murmuring against her lips, "I'm always here to help."

And when she pulled back with a faint smile she tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes.

"I know you were worried about this dating stuff," she said softly while reaching up to touch his cheek, "but trust me, you're doing it right."

His lip quirked up.

"I just didn't want you to think I forgot, and real flowers didn't seem very practical for tonight."

Actually he'd thought of the flower conundrum over the weekend. And on Saturday when he was doing errands with Jack, he'd run into Godiva and bought a single wrapped chocolate rose. It was the perfect compromise.

And he was glad to see that Emily seemed to agree.

Just then the line started to move and he looked ahead to see that they'd started selling tickets. So he slipped his arm around Emily's waist and tucked her against his side.

"Come on," he kissed the top of her head, "let's go to the movies."

* * *

_A/N 2: So you can see the feel of their relationship in this world is softer than some of the others. That is the key for the different spinoffs. Not just a plotline to drive them but a feel for their world when you walk into it. _

_Their date continues on to the monuments and later, but I was reading the latter sections over and I think they can be puffed out a bit more so I thought this was a good place to cut it for now. Given I haven't posted here in two months I thought perhaps people would appreciate one 3000 word chapter as opposed to nothing at all :)_


	4. Frogs and Princes

**Author's Note**: Continuing on through date night.

* * *

**Frogs and Princes**

Two and a half hours after they arrived at the end of the ticket line, the movie had finished and Hotch and Emily stepped back out into the lobby of the theater. By then Hotch had consumed one small Diet Coke, one package of peanut M&amp;Ms, and one small bag of popcorn. Emily on the other hand, was stuffed full of two _large_ bags of popcorn (neither of which she shared with Hotch), a large of box Snow Caps (apparently a movie going requirement, Hotch had made a mental note) and two medium size Diet Cokes. It was enough food to feed a Sumo wrestler, though none of it stopped her from immediately clamoring for a double cheeseburger and a large fry as soon as she returned from her trip to the ladies room.

The two Diet Cokes had caught up with her pretty quickly.

Hotch just chuckled to himself as he slipped his arm around her waist, tucked her against his side, and started walking them out.

Time to find that McDonald's.

Once outside, they started wandering back down Penn, heading towards the White House. At that time of the evening, in that part of town, it was mostly just tourists getting lost and the after work crowd heading in and out of the surrounding bars. Basically the streets were still fairly busy, but not crowded enough to be stressful. And Hotch . . . given his innate distrust of nearly all strangers . . . considered any situation where he couldn't keep a solid three foot buffer around him to be 'stressful.'

But they were doing pretty well on the personal space front.

Only once did they have to step completely aside to let a family of six, complete with baby in stroller and a set of . . . what appeared from their matching outfits . . . to be triplets in the toddler range. They were all individually hooked up to one of those child harness/leash getups.

Hotch did not envy the father attempting to wrangle that crew.

Then he felt Emily pat his stomach, and he looked down.

"Aren't they adorable?" She said wistfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

"You want to have _triplets_?!" He responded with some alarm.

Not that they . . . in week two . . . had in any way reached the stage where the possibility of children would have come up, but still if Emily was hoping to have a family of _triplets,_ that would clearly be information Hotch would very much be interested in gathering sooner than later!

"Huh?" Emily's nose wrinkled as she looked up in confusion, "oh no." She quickly shook her head, "no, no. If given the option I'd prefer a single birth at a time. I'd like to use my vagina again without reconstruction. I just meant _generally_, they were adorable. It's a sweet age." Then a thought occurred to her and she tipped her head.

"Actually they're probably about Jack's age, right?"

"Um," Hotch turned to look at the family now stopped at the corner with the mother pushing the walk signal, "I think they might be a little younger. Jack turned three in November and he's a bit taller than they are."

Just then he realized why it was that Emily might have asked that question. And he looked back down to see her staring up.

He gave her a little smile.

"I'll let you meet him in a couple weeks. I just wanted to let us, you know," he tipped his head, "figure this out a little bit first."

"Oh, I wasn't . . ."

Emily immediately tried to jump in, but Hotch just hushed her with a finger to the lips.

"I know you weren't," his eyes crinkled, "but I'm also sure that you had to at least be curious about him, and it did seem like the time to bring it up. So, couple weeks, okay?"

Emily's lip quirked up.

"Okay."

Though she really _hadn't _been poking around for an invitation to meet Jack . . . bringing his age up was simply organic to the moment . . . Hotch was right, she was curious. God, that little boy was THE most important person in her new boyfriend's life, so of course she was curious about him.

And a little nervous if she was honest with herself.

Though she worked with traumatized children on the job, she didn't have a lot of experience 'socializing' with them out in her personal life. And obviously her interactions with them from one world to the other would be very different. So what if she met Hotch's son, and she screwed it up? What if he didn't like her? That was a legitimate worry, and the reason that she did have a bit riding on their first meeting.

Whenever it happened.

But she didn't want Hotch to know she was getting a bit neurotic about it . . . it was kind of silly to be stressing anyway . . . so she just squeezed the hand he offered her, and continued on down the street.

After a few more blocks they'd reached the McDonald's on 17th by the White House. There they ordered enough food for four . . . which wasn't just Emily's doing, Hotch's appetite seemed to have caught up with him . . . and after a few minutes wait, they headed out with their bag of goodies.

They ended up in Lafayette Park.

Though the plan had been to continue down to the monuments for the actual 'consuming of food,' when Hotch heard Emily's stomach growling . . . twice . . . while they were waiting for their order to be filled, he figured that it was better to eat sooner than later. But the park really wasn't that great a place to hang out in after dark. Not that it wasn't safe . . . they were within the White House security perimeter, it was about the safest after dark spot in the city . . . but more that the wildlife was 'off-putting.'

There was a rat issue.

They were scurrying around in the bushes.

So once they'd scarfed down their burgers and fries . . . and split Emily's apple pie . . . Hotch rolled up their bag of trash and jammed it into his pocket. Then he took Emily's hand . . . which was now a little salty from digging around in the fry bag . . . and with each of them carrying their half empty sodas, continued on their evening walk.

Twenty some odd minutes later they found themselves down by the reflecting pool near the Lincoln Memorial. The weather was good and it was still fairly early, not even ten, so the crowds hadn't thinned out all that much.

It was primetime to get the perfect evening vacation photos.

But not needing to actually get any photos themselves, Hotch and Emily opted to settle in on a bench a bit further along the side edge of the pool. They could still see everything, but there was a little distance from the other visitors.

Basically it was more private.

And for a few minutes they just sat in silence, Emily with her head tipped onto Hotch's shoulder, and his hand clutched to her stomach. And she was just about to ask him if he might want to go to the ballet next week, when she felt him squeeze her fingers.

"This is nice," he said softly. And she lifted her head to look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What, the weather?"

The breeze was actually starting to get kind of chilly. They were between 'lion' and 'lamb' for March weather.

"No," his lip quirked up slightly, "not the weather, just this. You. Being out like a regular person, with a regular life. It's nice."

Emily's eyes crinkled.

"You are a regular person with a regular life. You just happen to have a regular life that's a tiny bit more interesting than most people's."

"Exactly," Hotch agreed with a nod as his gaze briefly shifted to look up at the presidential monument above them, "that's exactly what I mean. My life, _our_ life," he corrected while giving her a knowing look, "it is _significantly_ more 'interesting' than most people's. So that's why it's so nice to do something normal again. That used to be, uh," his voice faded slightly as he considered the wisdom of bring up his ex-wife while out on a date with his new girlfriend . . . then he said screw it. It's not like Emily didn't _know_ that he was recently divorced.

So he finished his thought.

"Well, that used to be Haley," he continued softly. "But after I joined the FBI, really, probably more specifically the BAU, that life with her started to become an alien world when I walked in the front door. At first it was good. Just the normal, welcome break from work, like it is for most people. But after a couple of years with the unit, I started to feel more detached there . . . and then I started feeling like a complete stranger. Because the longer I was with the team," his voice started to thicken, "and the more things that I saw, the less I shared even the most innocuous parts of my day. And the longer that went on, the less I felt a part of Haley's world. I'd completely isolated one part of my life from the other, and I saw no path to merge them together again. And those last few months before she left, looking back now, I can see what a farce it was. That's why we fought constantly. It was me trying to keep access to my son. And the only way to do that back then, was to continue to try to jam myself into that life, when we both knew that my reality had long ago stopped having anything to do with hers."

Hotch stopped to take a breath, but then he felt Emily's hand rub across his chest. He looked down to see her giving him a sympathetic smile.

"You okay?" She asked softly, and he nodded.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking for a second. But my point was," he said as his voice brightened and he reached out to brush his fingertips along her cheek, "that being out with you tonight, and not just tonight, but spending time with you generally, it's really nice. Because when I'm with you, I don't feel like a stranger bumping up against your world. Our worlds are the same. That was why I wanted to do, you know," he gestured between the two of them, "this, us. It's not just because I realized how much I'd grown to care for you," his eyes crinkled, "or that you're beautiful and brilliant," his lip quirked up, "though all of those things are true, but it was also more how you made me feel. Like me. The real me that the BAU has made me. But still somehow, when I'm with you, I'm a happier version of even that man who trusts very little of the world these days. You've worked a miracle," he gave her a faint dimple, "you can make me smile."

Feeling her eyes watering, Emily sniffled as she looked up at Hotch with a bright smile.

"Wow," she blinked back the tears, "I think that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me." Then she leaned up to give him a kiss.

"Thank you," she murmured against his lips.

"You're welcome," Hotch mumbled in response with a light nibbling of her lower lip, "so does that mean that I can have a grown up sleepover at your house tonight?" And she giggled before leaning back to give him a big grin.

"Yes, we are most _definitely_ going to have our grown up sleepover tonight!" she chuckled. "I even bought you your own toothbrush," she winked, "it's got Superman on it."

The second she spotted it in Target, she'd snatched it off the shelf. It was just absolutely PERFECT for him!

Hotch chuckled as he kissed her temple.

"Jack has the one with Spiderman."

"Well," she waved her hand, "there you go! Two superheroes in the family are better than one! So," she looked up hopefully while patting his leg, "are we ready to get this show on the road?"

His lip quirked up.

"Lead on Macduff."

/*/*/*/*

The cab dropped them off across from Emily's apartment building thirty minutes later. And after they'd crossed the street and gotten off the sidewalk, Emily immediately began to head over towards the visitors' parking area. But then she stopped short when she realized that Hotch wasn't following her. He was just standing there on the pavement. Her eyebrow quirked up.

"What are you doing?"

And his eyebrow did the same.

"What do you mean what am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing?" He jerked his thumb, "your building's that way."

"But your _bag!_" She jerked her own thumb in the opposite direction, over towards the familiar green jeep a few spots away, "you're going upstairs without your bag!"

God, did he suddenly FORGET it was sex night, or what?!

Hearing the faint panic in Emily's tone, Hotch's mouth quivered.

"I _wasn't_ going to go up without my bag," he responded with amused exasperation, "I was going to walk you to the lobby, then run over to CVS," he tipped his head towards the pharmacy adjacent to her building's parking lot, "and get some condoms. _Then _I was going to grab my bag. I'll meet you upstairs."

Emily frowned as she walked up to him, her boots clicking on the asphalt.

"But we really don't need condoms," she tried to assure him with a shake of her head while slipping her arms around his waist, "I promise. We are one hundred percent good to go on the non-baby making front."

Though she was usually UBER vigilant about both the birth control and the protection against sexual diseases, that was because her partners were, well, strangers. Not TOTAL strangers of course, but men that she'd generally only known a few weeks. Maybe a month. And clearly even four weeks wasn't long enough time to get to know somebody well enough to trust that person with your life.

And if you're taking a 'stranger's' word, that it's totally safe to have sex without any additional protection, then you're a God damn idiot.

But Hotch was different.

They'd known each other forever. He was safe. And if she was going to be back in a 'proper' relationship again, something that she hadn't been since she'd broken up with Sully three years earlier, then this was definitely one of the perks that she wanted to take advantage of.

Condom free sex.

For a second Hotch stared down at Emily, his fingertips pressing lightly into her sides. Then his eyebrow inched up suspiciously.

"One _hundred _percent, you're sure?"

Though he REALLY didn't want to go back to wearing condoms again after twenty years a free man, he also REALLY didn't want to impregnate Emily, week two.

"Well," she half shrugged, half rolled her eyes, "ninety-nine, point ninety-eight, but you know whatever the statistical safety net is, we have it" she held her right hand up and pointed her little finger, "I pinky swear, I take my little white pills every day, on time, right after I brush my teeth and right before I take my shower. I've got a whole clockwork thing happening."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"All right then, so do I have to start contributing towards the little white pill fund?"

After all, if there were condoms involved, he'd have to pay for those.

"Ha!" Emily barked a laugh, "no! No, you don't have to do that. I'd be taking them anyway to keep the train running on time." Her lip quirked up, "so to speak." Then she gave him a hopeful smile before leaning up to give him a kiss.

"So can we get your bag now," she murmured against his lips, and Hotch started to chuckle while pulling back.

"_Yes_!" he rolled his eyes good naturedly, "yes, we can GET my bag now! But you do know," he continued matter of factly as he started walking them over to the jeep, "that I am fairly certain that my dry dock of celibacy has been some months longer than yours. But given your level of," he shot her a look of amusement, "_enthusiasm,_ you'd think that you'd been off in a submarine for the last year."

"Actually," she poked him in the side, "I'm pretty sure that I'd have made out pretty well for myself if I was stuck on a submarine for year. But more to the point, my dry dock is probably about the same as yours. I haven't, well," she leaned against his side while she began counting on her fingers, "it's been about nine and a half months I think."

The last one was Jimmy Liebowitz. Nice Irish Jewish boy from Brooklyn, currently working as an Assistant U.S. Attorney for the Southern District. They'd had a couple of fun nights, but it was nothing serious.

Just a spring fling.

"_Seriously?_" Hotch turned to her with his keys in his hand and his eyebrow almost to his hairline, "it's been that long?"

"Well," she frowned, "what? Did you think I was easy or something?"

What the hell?!

"No," his expression, and tone, immediately softened as he rubbed his hand down her arm, "no, of course not. And I didn't mean to imply that you were. I just meant that I was a little _surprised_, because I'd seen you go out with a couple guys through last summer and fall that," he tipped his head, "in retrospect, seemed to have reached what I now know is your three to four date window. So it just wouldn't have occurred to me that not one of them got any more serious than first base."

That actually gave him a bit of an ego boost though! That he'd already cleared a hurdle by, really, date ONE . . . she'd wanted to jump him in the restaurant . . . that those other men apparently had no shot of jumping over no matter _how_ many times they'd gone out with her.

Chumps.

"Well," Emily's brow wrinkled, "the three to four dates isn't like an automatic 'go' or anything. It's just the minimum period of time I've set to get to know a new person. And you know sometimes those 'dates' are only drinks or coffee. Nothing substantive. So I guess really," her lips pursed, "it's not so much the number of dates as the number of _hours_. So," she did some quick math in her head, "let's say it's more like sixteen to twenty hours of quality 'get to know you' time is needed to even reach the point of consideration. And those guys were considered, and dismissed. And you know my last chosen candidate was," she made a face, "Agent Brooks. And you know how things went with him."

Creepy, creepy, Danny Broooks, and his creepy, creepy, nipple sucking, serial killer convo, FOREPLAY!

Yuck.

"Yeah," Hotch nodded sympathetically as he stopped to pull Emily to his chest, "yeah," he kissed her temple, "I know how things went with him."

That was a story that she'd told him, oddly enough . . . setting wise . . . at Dave's Christmas Eve party. It was a unique bonding experience, and he remembered how EXTREMELY unsettled she'd been at the time she'd been running down what had happened that night she'd almost given Danny Brooks the 'go' signal. And thinking back on that conversation at the party, he ran his hand down her back.

"Do you think that incident is the main reason you haven't had sex since then?" He asked softly.

"Umm," Emily bit her lip, "I hadn't actually thought about it that way, but I guess maybe it had a little to do with it." She tipped her head back to look up at him, "you know, judgment wise I was afraid that my creep radar was malfunctioning, and," she twisted her face up, "uck, I really didn't want to make another mistake like that one."

That still bothered her sometimes, that she could have read him SO wrong. But then she'd remind herself that Dave still invited the guy to his holiday parties, and then that would make her feel a little better.

Even DAVE probably would have slept with him!

And for a second she and Hotch were both quiet, him holding her while they stood a few feet away from his jeep. But then Emily looked up to see that his brow was knitted together, and she realized what he was probably thinking. So she pressed her hand against his chest.

"You know I'm not still _traumatized_ or anything, if that's what you're worrying about. I mean yeah," she rolled her eyes slightly, "I'm not going to lie, it was upsetting. But even with that creepiness, Brooks probably _still_ isn't even the worst guy I've ever dated." Then she paused for a second before adding matter of factly.

"I have terrible taste in men."

"Well that makes me feel good," Hotch responded drily, and Emily snorted as she leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck. She pulled him down into a hug.

"Not you, you goof," she whispered in his ear, "you are the exception to the rule. You are the prince after kissing a thousand frogs. And honestly," she leaned back slightly to give him a soft smile, "you just being you, is actually kind of reinforcing a bit of my faith in your entire gender. So," she tipped her head to the side, "you ready to go upstairs now?"

Hotch looked down at Emily, and then held up his keys to shake them between them. His lip quirked up.

"Just got to get my bag."

/*/*/*/*/

Hotch blinked as he stared up at the ceiling of Emily's bedroom. He was watching the shadows from the streetlights, move across the room.

At present Emily was lying naked on his chest, her breath a warm tickle on his collar bone. She was asleep.

He wished he could join her.

Though he'd drifted off for a while after they'd made love . . . which had been wonderful by the way . . . he'd woken up a few minutes ago. Strangely enough, though he'd fallen asleep feeling happy and content, now his mind was racing, and he wasn't quite sure how to make it stop.

It was very annoying.

And it wasn't that he was conflicted about what they'd done, because he absolutely was NOT . . . his marriage was long over, and his feelings for Emily were strong . . . but more that his brain was for some reason insisting upon reconciling tonight's step in their relationship, against what it meant for the future. If they had a future.

A long term one that is.

It wasn't as though he was so old fashioned that he believed sex was only for relationships expected to last for the long haul, but he didn't actually take it that casually either. Even in college, though he'd sowed a few oats before he'd met Haley, he'd still never had a one night stand. He liked to at least know a woman a little bit before he took them to bed. Which was why he'd only slept with two girls in high school, and maybe five in college, so overall he supposed that his sexual history could be considered rather, 'chaste.'

Certainly by _Dave's_ standards, he thought with a faint eye roll.

Back to the point though, given that his most recent sexual relationship had lasted almost twenty-two years, he supposed it was somewhat understandable that he was now feeling a bit of restlessness about what was coming for him and Emily. But he didn't want that restlessness to screw up what they were building . . . he lightly tapped his fingers on her hip . . . because what they were building was really nice. As he'd told her at the memorial, their time together brought him a contentment that he hadn't felt in years. And he knew that it was very possible that he could wake up some morning a few months from now, and find that he'd fallen in love. And even if they never reached that step, he was still quite sure that he'd be better simply for the time that they were spending together now.

She was good for him.

So perhaps . . . he took a breath . . . _that_ should be what he made himself focus in on. Not the count of days in their future, but simply the quality of those days as they came.

That approach would probably cause him a lot less anxiety.

Just then he felt Emily stirring against his chest, and his gaze shifted down to see her looking up at him. There was enough streetlight coming through the curtains, to see that her eyes were bleary.

"Why are you awake?" she murmured, "everything okay?"

He immediately brushed his fingers along her cheek as he gave her a soft smile.

"Everything's fine," he whispered back, "I think the heat coming on must have woken me up, and then I was just thinking."

"Yeah," Emily blinked and pushed herself up slightly. "Thinking about what?" She asked with a sniff as she rubbed her nose, "is something bothering you?" Then a thought popped into her head, and her eyes widened in alarm . . . she was no longer feeling sleepy at all.

"It's not _this_," she asked worriedly while rubbing her hand across his bare chest, "right?"

God, maybe it was too soon after his divorce for him to have sex! Maybe he wasn't ready yet and she'd talked him into it!

Seeing from her panicked expression, that Emily's imagination was running away from her, Hotch remembered that in the past, she hadn't necessarily had the best luck with men. So it was probably understandable, given that things between them were so new, that she might automatically assume the worst.

So he quickly moved to calm her fears.

"Hey," he soothed while catching her hand, "it's okay, stop having a panic attack. Yes, I was thinking about this," he squeezed her fingers, "and no," he gave a firm shake of his head, "I wasn't thinking anything negative at all. Actually," he shifted to roll Emily beneath him, "I was thinking about how happy I was, and," he leaned down to press a light kiss to her lips, "and how beautiful you are, and how very, very lucky I feel that you chose me to be your next frog."

His last words were a murmur as he lightly nuzzled her cheek.

Then he heard Emily giggle just before her arms came up to wrap around his neck.

"You are my best frog yet," she chuckled in his ear while pulling him down to her chest. "So do you want to maybe um," she stroked her heel along his thigh, "try to make it a twofer for tonight?"

Though he'd only had maybe an hour's sleep, Hotch was not about to turn down more sex. Not after his own nearly ten month drought! So he picked his head up with a little grin. Then he waggled his eyebrows.

"Ribbit."

And Emily burst out laughing.

"We really need to work on your dirty talk!" She chuckled as he began kissing his way along the curve of her breast.

"Anything else?" He murmured against her soft skin.

"No," Emily's eyes crinkled as she felt him pressing into her, "no, aside from the frog talk, you've been batting a thousand this evening."

He winked.

"Let's go for two," he said . . . and he disappeared under the covers.

A few minutes later, Hotch had the covers kicked to the floor. And then a few minutes after that . . . with her fingers scraping through his hair . . . Emily started to moan. And then after a few _more_ minutes . . . and a few more flickers of that fabulous tongue of his . . . she screamed and bucked up.

That's when she accidentally kicked him down to the floor too.

This was the stuff that they never covered in health class. And seeing him lying in a heap on top of the comforter, her hand came up to her mouth when she started to giggle. He looked up at her in astonishment.

"What the hell?!"

And she bit her lip as she leaned over the side of the bed. Then she gave him a sheepish grin.

"Oops."

* * *

_A/N 2: Again, trying to keep the sweeter side of them all the way through. And that includes their first time together. Which is an 'event' that has happened in about 5 universes now and in each one, things go just a little differently tone wise. But I thought this fit well for this version of them. Emily's first, 'oops.' :) Also something else that's kind of become a tradition after each time they have sex, is Hotch's 'post game wrap up,' so to speak :) But it's always him coming off the divorce, so it's always him that is the easier one to take stock with. Emily gets her say too, but I did notice when I was finishing up this one, that Hotch's POV pops up in all of them. I guess I'll have to keep it up now!_

_Snow Caps at the movies! Also a Girl'verse staple for Emily. _

_The 'wildlife' in Lafayette Park, yeah once I saw a dog EAT a rat in Lafayette Park. Like one in the afternoon, sunny day, people everywhere, I was walking through on my lunch hour, rapid movement out of the corner of my eye so I whipped my head around to see a dog had gotten off it's leash and was chasing something. It kind of disappeared behind people's legs for a second, and then the rat appeared, and then the dog again, and then ...GULP! I just stood there, alone in a crowd, with my mouth hanging open. I've seen some messed up stuff, but still to date that's one of the most randomly bizarre things ever. It was a domesticated dog! Snacking on a city rat! He just ate him like a Milk Bone. The image has been stuck in my head for like 8 years. And now it's stuck in yours :)_

_FYI, if you've read more of the Girl'verse you will recall the whole Danny Brooks tale is covered over in the Christmas offshoot, Making Spirits Bright. But I tried to include enough of the particulars here that you got a decent picture of things either way._

_We'll probably have a couple more updates this week. I know, we're always flood or famine on the postings. Usually famine :)_

_Thanks everyone!_


	5. Unscheduled Departures

**Author's Note: **FYI, there's a little bit of 'sexual activity' in this one. Nothing particularly explicit, certainly not by any of the standards found in my M rated stories, so the advisory is just in case you're somebody who prefers to have EVERYTHING left to the imagination. There's a smidge more detail than that. But these characters truly have minds of their own, and Hotch started up and I figured I'd let them finish :)

* * *

**Unscheduled Departures**

_**Mid-March - Tuesday**_

Tuesday morning Emily awoke to find sunlight cutting around the drapes, Hotch's head lolling on her shoulder, and his arm wrapped around her waist.

He was clutching her to his body like he was afraid that she'd float away.

Her lips curved in a sleepy smile.

The main difference between that moment, and the first time that they'd woken up the night before, was that now they were wearing clothes. At least a few. But after they'd made love for the second time it had been close to three am, and even with the heat up, by then the apartment had a bit of a chill. So before they'd pulled the covers back up to the bed, Hotch had grabbed his boxers and t-shirt off the floor. He'd taken the boxers.

She'd taken the t-shirt.

It was a bit too big for her, but as she felt the soft cotton wrapped around her skin, she was thinking how much it was going to suck when she had to give it back. Not that she was usually so 'sentimental' about the first time she slept with a guy . . . but this wasn't just any guy. She was pretty sure that she and Hotch might have a chance at something long term. Maybe not forever . . . after this many years of dating dud after dud, she was no longer sure if forever was a real thing . . . but at least through the next few seasons. That way they could figure out how compatible they really were.

And then they could see where things went.

It would be nice though, no matter how things played out in the end, to have a little memento of what had been an amazing first night. And the hickey that Hotch had left on her inner thigh, totally didn't count.

Speaking of Hotch, just then Emily felt his fingers sliding under the t-shirt and across her stomach.

"You awake?" he murmured in her ear. And she smiled even while twisting her arm slightly so she could reach up and pat his cheek.

"I am," she continued, while letting her arm fall back down to the bed, "and we're up about fourteen minutes before the alarm. I was just about to turn it off."

"Or," Hotch continued softly as his fingers skimmed along her flat belly, and down to gently cup the warmth below, "we could _not_ be up yet, and instead see how much fun we could fit into fourteen minutes."

Feeling a tickle from the pressure of his palm, Emily started to giggle.

"Well," she huffed, "I haven't had a morning quickie in a couple years, and I can't recall what my best time was. But I'm almost positive, uh," her breath started to catch as his thumb pressed down, "that I could do just fine in fourteen minutes."

Damn, he was good at getting her going!

"Yeah," Hotch kissed her neck as his fingers continued their industrious activities around front, "I'm pretty sure fourteen minutes would work for me too. You want to give it a whirl?"

This was the first time that he'd woken up with morning wood in over a year, where the only option for resolution wasn't just a cold shower. So he figured if Emily was willing, why waste the time on the clock! And when he heard her first moan, right before he got a ragged, "let's go," he was thrilled that he'd just gotten the green light!

So he quickly shifted them around, her on her back instead of on her side, and him now on top. But he kept his thumb busy, keeping her happy, while he pushed off his boxers and kicked them beneath the blankets.

It wasn't until he leaned down to give her a kiss, that he pulled his hand away and moved to slip inside her. Though he tried to go easy, when he felt the little gasp against his lips, he wasn't sure if it was one of pleasure, or discomfort . . . so he froze.

"You okay?" He whispered.

But then Emily nodded and reached up to slide her arms around his neck.

"Very okay," she said with a little smile while pushing her lower body up, once . . . and again. Two quick thrusts, which most definitely kick started the activities that he was expecting to lead.

So with a grin he leaned down to kiss her once more, even as his own hips began to move.

That time she met his thrust with a squeeze that sent a quiver of pleasure through his loins.

"You're frisky this morning," he murmured while nibbling on her lower lip.

"I just want to make sure we have a quality finish," she responded with a pant, "you know I haven't had sex for a while, and with you agent Hotchner," she groaned, "I could do this everrrrry day."

Hotch paused in his movements to lift his head up and look down at her in surprise.

"You want to have sex _every_, day?"

"Well," she grinned up at him, "yeah. Don't you?"

"Well," he rolled his eyes slightly, "yes, of course. But I'm a man. I've just never met a woman who proposed that same schedule of activities."

And of course once you got married, he'd found that the activities became a bit more of a routine . . . but he kept that one to himself.

"Well, obviously," Emily purred back while pulling him down into another kiss, "you just haven't been hanging out with the right woman." Then, while she was still exploring his mouth with her tongue, she hooked her leg over his hip and jerked her body upwards, hard.

And MORE than taking the hint there . . . time to get this show on the road . . . Hotch sucked in a ragged breath . . . she was taking most of his oxygen . . . and picked up the pace. Now going hard and fast, trying to put the quick, into the quickie. And after a few more minutes he could feel Emily begin to crest. And then a few strokes after that . . . so did he.

And when it was done, and the colors had started to fade from his vision, he felt Emily burying her head against his throat.

"Like I said," she panted, "we really need to do that every day."

God, if she'd only known back in that bar, what she knew now . . . that Hotch was a FABULOUS lover . . . then she probably would she would have gone full press on those seduction techniques!

Hotch chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple.

"But I don't actually see you every day. I mean," he brushed his fingers down her arm, "off duty that is."

She tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Hmm," she pouted, "that's true. So how about we agree now, sex will be had on every date night, yes?"

"Emily," Hotch snorted, "if you are offering to have sex with me, EVERY time that we're alone together, then yes, obviously, I'm going to agree to that proposal."

"Good," she leaned up to kiss his cheek, "then I don't have to be all Mae West, 'come up and see me some time,' every time you drop me off at the door."

Hearing another snort, this time of her use as Mae West as a role model . . . "the woman was born in the eighteen _hundreds_ Emily!" . . . Emily ignored him to turn her head and check the time.

She reached out and slapped her hand down on it.

"Okay," she turned back and patted his chest, "we beat that the alarm by about a minute and a half, so good job. And that also means that there are seven minutes left before I usually get up," she shot Hotch a sheepish grin, "I usually hit the snooze once. But with two of us needing to use the bathroom, we should get moving or we're going to be late for work."

It was going to be an adjustment sharing her bed on a workday again. Outside of longer term relationships . . . of which there hadn't been one in a LONG while . . . generally her date nights were on the weekends, and so overnight guests generally didn't have to be up and out the door on a schedule. Not to say that she didn't occasionally pull a, "here's your hat, what's your hurry," if she hadn't had a particularly 'awesome' night, but it was different when there was an ACTUAL clock ticking.

They were going to have to figure out a good routine.

"Right," Hotch bit back a sigh at the reminder that it was actually a week day, "work."

But then he reminded himself that he'd had sex with a gorgeous woman _three_ times in the last ten hours, so this unequivocally was the best morning he'd had in a LONG time. So grumbling . . . even in his own mind . . . about now having to go to work, was ridiculous. And once that point had settled into his brain, he took a breath and patted Emily's hip.

"All right," he huffed out his breath, "break."

And so she rolled to the right, and he rolled to the left, swinging his legs around and dropping his feet down to the carpet.

When he turned his head, Hotch saw that Emily had done the same.

As Emily stood up, she was already pulling Hotch's t-shirt up and over her head. Then her earlier thought came back again, and she turned around to see him standing on the other side of the bed. He was covering a yawn.

She clutched the shirt protectively to her chest.

"Would you mind if I kept this?" she asked with a shy smile, "you know, like as a memento? Or do you think that would be kind of goofy? Or," her nose wrinkled, "kind of fatal attractiony?"

Hotch's expression softened.

"I would not think either of those things." His eyes crinkled slightly, "I would think it was sweet."

Then he walked over to give her a kiss. As he pulled away, his hands fell down to her bare hips, lightly caressing the skin.

"Now," he stated drily while giving her bottom a light squeeze, "you need to get in the shower before I decide that today would be a good day for us to play hooky for the first time ever."

Biting down a chuckle of amusement, Emily leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck. The t-shirt was still clutched in one hand.

"Duly noted," she huffed before smacking a quick kiss on his lips. Then she dropped down to her toes and gently rubbed his chest.

"I'll be out in like twelve minutes. If you want to make coffee, canister is on the counter, filters are in a tin on the bottom shelf, second cabinet over from the stove. And feel free to eat anything that looks edible." She smiled, "k?"

His eyes crinkled.

"Okay."

She turned away then, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder as she walked into the bathroom. After the door closed behind her, Hotch stared at it for a moment. His expression was somewhat wistful. Finally he shook his head.

_God, she had a beautiful ass! _

And he gave himself another second to ruminate on its gloriousness before he took a breath, turned, and headed out to make the coffee.

He was hopping back into his boxers as he walked out the door.

/*/*/*/*/

Early Wednesday evening, just before six pm, Hotch found himself not where he'd hoped to be . . . out on date number four/sex day number three, with Emily . . . but instead hiking through the darkening woods of southeastern Wyoming, freezing his ass off.

It was par for the course though. The second he started to generally settle into a state of 'happiness' with his personal life, something at work would immediately fuck things up. But this was the career that he'd chosen . . . and lost a wife over . . . so he had nobody to blame but himself for sticking with it.

Basically he just needed to suck it up.

After all, things could be worse. He could be off _personally _decomposing in these woods rather than hiking through them to see a few of his less fortunate fellow earthlings, that even now were suffering that exact fate. Hence the reason for his team's presence there.

The new case.

Late that morning, they'd been notified of an incident here in this forest south of Douglas. Two sixteen year old Eagle Scouts in training had gone hiking before dawn, and had somehow inadvertently stumbled off the generally well-marked, Twin Peaks trail. And before they'd stumbled back onto it again, they'd tripped over a pile of bones. And then another one.

And another.

And another.

And then a fresh body.

And then another one of those.

By the time they'd found their way back to civilization almost four hours later, the two boys that had gone out to earn their wilderness survival badges . . . irony . . . had both literally shit their pants. But of course there was no Boy Scout badge for discovering a serial killer's dumping grounds. No, no badges for that.

Just a lifetime of REALLY bad dreams.

And with the closest local law enforcement in Douglas consisting of one detective, two civilian employees and eight full time patrol officers, the police chief had quickly realized that they were in over their heads with whatever this was. Not that they were unfamiliar with the 'criminal element' . . . it wasn't Mayberry . . . but their biggest problem around that area, were meth dealers. They could be ruthless, and had records a yard long, but it still seemed very unlikely that they'd be slaughtering their competition EN MASSE and then dumping them far out into the forest. After all, in a turf war, it would kind of defeat the general purpose of making an example out of the people that you'd killed, if nobody knew that you'd killed them. That was the ONE benefit of gang warfare.

It wasn't at all subtle.

So, though Hotch hadn't _ruled out_ a meth war, it was definitely more of a long shot theory. His _primary_ theory, as he traipsed over the pine needles and clotted earth with half of his team, was that this dump site belonged to an UNSUB that they'd been tracking for a couple years.

The Highway 59 Slasher.

Of course that wasn't their name for him, that was what the local media had nicknamed him after a half dozen bodies were found up and down Highway 59 with their throats slashed. Mostly they were hitchhikers or runaways. Mostly male. Mostly young. But all at least of legal age of consent. So their UNSUB hadn't demonstrated any pedophiliac tendencies.

That was about all he had going for him.

That and that he did have a special knack for evading detection. More than once the State Police in Wyoming and Montana had tried to run a dragnet to catch this bastard, but they'd always come up dry. And Hotch was sure that they were probably going to try that dragnet again now.

Even if, in his opinion, that would be a waste of resources.

"Aaron?"

Hearing Emily's soft whisper interrupt his train of thought, Hotch turned to look down at her walking by this side.

Her face was mostly in shadows.

"Yes?" he answered just as quietly. And then he saw her pull her hand out of her pocket, and hold it up in front of his flashlight. It was cramped into a somewhat clawlike position.

The beam bounced off of bone white skin.

"I lost one of my gloves," she explained with a pained murmur, "and I thought it would be all right, but I think might be getting frost bite."

Though she hated to have to bother him with this, even with her hand jammed into her jeans pocket for the last forty minutes of their hike, she'd still ended up losing all sensation.

And she really didn't want to have to have her FINGERS cut off!

"Jesus Christ Emily," Hotch stopped short and pulled her over to the side of the trail.

"Why didn't you tell me _before_?!" He hissed while hurriedly yanking off his own gloves and dropping them to the ground along with his flashlight.

"Because I felt like an idiot," she mumbled back as he started rubbing her fingers between his palms, "and I didn't want to bother you with something so stupid, but then I realized that the zero sensation was beginning to spread along my hand. And that you'd probably be kind of pissed if I waited until we got back to the motel and I told you _then_, that I had to go to the hospital because my fingers were turning black."

"Yeah," Hotch answered drily with a roll of his eyes, "yeah, I would have been pretty pissed if you let your fingers turn _black_ before told me you needed a new glove."

"Everything okay?"

Hearing Rossi coming up behind them, Hotch shook his head.

"Not really," he answered quietly while continuing to gently rub Emily's frigid digits between his palms, "Prentiss lost a glove and all of the feeling in her left hand."

"But I think it's getting a little better," Emily jumped in, "I mean, it's starting to hurt again, that's a good sign, right?"

God, this was humiliating! And great . . . she bit her lip . . . now HERE comes Morgan too! Jesus, couldn't she just be an idiot in private with ONLY Hotch there to roll his eyes at her dumbassery?! But no, she got to stand in a group while Rossi repeated the same ridiculous story to Morgan, that Hotch had just handed him.

That she had lost her freaking glove like a freaking five year old!

Idiot!

And as Emily sheepishly raised her eyes up to Hotch's face, in the glow of the bouncing flashlights, she saw him roll his eyes again. Though she wasn't sure if that was at her, or at the expanding group knowledge of the completely ridiculous situation.

She was really hoping that it was the latter.

And then she saw him lift his head and jerk his chin to the right.

"You two can keep going," he said crispy, "we'll be along in a minute. I have an extra pair of gloves in my pack, but I just want to make sure Prentiss has full feeling in her hand again before we assume it's fine."

After the responding murmurs of, "well if you're sure," and "okay man," the other two continued on down the trail behind the deputies that were leading them. Once the others were out of sight, Hotch lifted Emily's hand up to his mouth, and blew warm air on her fingers.

"Can you feel that?"

His voice was soft, intimate, and she felt a little tickle in her stomach.

"Yeah," she whispered back in the same quiet tone, "I've got pins and needles in them now, but," she slowly, and somewhat painfully, flexed the hand he was still holding in his, "I can bend my fingers again."

"Good," Hotch sighed in relief as he reached out to tug down the zipper on her parka, "then we," he moved her arm back, and tucked her hand inside her jacket, "are going to stick this in here for a minute," he patted the outside of her jacket before pulling his own arm back, "and I'm going to get you that other pair of gloves."

Then he twisted his shoulder slightly to pull the strap of his pack down and slide the bag into his hands.

"And next time," he shot her a look, "just tell me right away if something like that happens. I packed extra gloves and hats just in case anybody lost anything, or the temperatures dropped. And you _especially_," he continued with a slightly exasperated amusement, "given how you'd told me just last week that you lost four pairs of gloves in one season, I brought an extra set out for you personally. And," he pulled out a small silvery wrapped item, "I brought hand warmers for you too," he started to rip one open, "just in case you mentioned that you were cold."

Feeling a wave of warmth and affection filling her . . . God, he was such a sweetie(!) . . . Emily's eyes were stinging when she reached down to pat her glove covered hand on his hat covered head. When he looked up, her hand stilled as she shot him a little smile.

"Thanks for remembering that I have the core temperature of an amphibious creature," she whispered. And his eyes crinkled slightly as he looked back up at her.

"Yeah, well," he shook his head slightly while slipping the hand warmer into the glove, "somebody has to. So," he quickly moved on while ripping open the packaging on the other hand warmer, "you swear that you _definitely_ have full feeling in your fingers now, right?"

"Yep," she nodded while wriggling them inside her jacket, "they're all tingling now. Apparently they were just half frozen, not totally frozen."

Good thing. It probably would have been REALLY hard to learn how to fire a gun with prosthetic fingers.

"Okay," he stood up and pulled the edges of the glove apart, "then slide that hand in here."

After she'd pulled her hand out of her coat and slipped the new glove on, Emily slowly opened and closed her fist.

Hotch's eyebrow went up as he watched her.

"Good?" he asked. And she nodded, "yep, perfect."

"All right then," he reached out and tugged off her other glove so he could tuck the second hand warmer inside. Then he handed it back to her.

"And this should keep that hand from getting a chill at all."

As she slipped her original glove back on, he quickly shoved his scraps of trash into his pack and zipped it up. Then he hoisted it up and around to his back again.

He was yanking his own gloves back on again when Emily suddenly leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"You're the best chief slash boyfriend, ever."

Then she dropped back down to her feet and winked.

It took a second of Hotch's lips twitching before he got that under control. Then he jerked his head towards the next reflective flag that had been spiked down to illuminate the path they were walking along.

"Come on," he put his hand on her shoulder, "let's get moving before they send a search party back for us."

And they set off down the trail again.

* * *

_A/N 2: So, little bit of sex, little bit of case fic, and that (the case fic, that is) will be continuing on into the next chapter. I'd actually written this day out beyond 'bedtime' but I had some gaps in the remaining pages so I cut it here to get something up. The next piece will be up within the week. _

_Thanks!_


	6. Green Eyed Monsters

**Author's Note**: We had a sudden death in the immediate family this week, it was a terrible, freak, accident, and once I was able TO distract my brain, this was a good place for it to go hide in for a while. It's odd, I discovered ff existed ten years ago when my nephew was dying of leukemia and I couldn't focus to read books. But something about these stories, in their concise little snippets in the way they're released and you go into a fantasy world that is slowly being built out for you, is oddly comforting. So screw anybody who dismisses it as silly. I know from talking to a LOT of people over the years that ff, regardless of your fandoms, really has carried people through some really lousy days. Be it the writer or the reader, whatever gets you over the rough spots, right?

And though RL is not super at the moment, the posting here isn't reflective of that personal mindset. It's the same sweeter quality as the rest of the story. Again, it was a good place to hide :) So everyone, please be safe, and have a good week. Now, on with the show.

Picks up immediately from the last one.

* * *

**TV Prompt Set #5**

Show: The Cosby Show

Title Challenge: It's Not Easy Being Green

* * *

**Green Eyed Monsters**

Hotch and Emily hurried quickly down the shadowy path. With their slight delay, Hotch noticed that what little natural light was left for the day, was now nearly gone. Not that much of it had been cutting through the tree cover anyway.

Without the flashlights they wouldn't have been able to see more than a few feet in front of them.

And though by then they were pretty far from the SUVs (they'd been hiking for over a half hour), and were on their way to a dump site of human remains, (a site likely created by a serial killer), by Hotch's estimation, there was actually very little chance for any 'external danger,' on that path, at that time. And that was because the local forest rangers had volunteered to guard the entrance to the trail, and had also placed two man/woman teams at every half mile marker, to make sure that the investigators could explore the woods without much general concern about being snuck up on in the dark.

Also, provided everybody stayed on the marked path . . . which was essentially a three foot wide swath through the trees, dotted with bright yellow markers . . . it was fairly difficult to actually get 'lost.'

Which was why the Boy Scouts had found their way back out to the world again so quickly.

Really, the astounding thing to Hotch . . . now that he'd seen for himself how wide and well-marked the path actually _was_ . . . was that they'd ever fallen off of it to start.

So fortunately by going double time, he and Emily soon caught up with the rest of the team, the local officers, and the State Police CID unit that had been called in to assist with the body excavation.

At that point the rest of the group were just getting off the actual trail and heading out into the copse of trees that the boys had initially wandered into, which had eventually led them to the scattered remains. The turn into the woods wasn't part of any official nature trail, so to make sure that no one got turned around from there, another ranger was stationed at the now 'crime scene taped,' turn into the trees. That man's job was to point and give directions.

And to basically yell "Marco Polo" if anybody got lost.

But for now, when they stopped and did a quick head count . . . cumulatively fifteen members of the local, state, and federal law enforcement . . . everyone was accounted for. So the group, with two local LEOS taking point, and one now coming up the rear, continued moving deeper into the woods.

The terrain was definitely more rugged there than on the open path. There were a lot of downed trees, bulging roots, slippery pine cones/needles, and large branches. It wasn't that they couldn't see where they were going, the flashlights worked fine and there was still that faint smattering of grey'ish light breaking through the overhang, but it was much more difficult to keep your footing.

There was just very little 'open' ground.

Emily stumbled twice. Once trying to step over an unusually large rotted log . . . it was seriously like almost a three foot clearance(!) . . . and then again getting tripped up in a patch of some kind of ivy that had been covering a tangle of roots. Each time though that she felt that faint 'oh shit' panic that she was going to hit the ground, Hotch caught her arm.

The second time just before her knee cracked into a large rock.

It was right after he'd helped her straighten up by the rock, that they heard a loud curse . . . and a splash . . . and then silence.

Before Emily could do more than blink, Hotch had taken off at a run, leaping over rotted logs and smashing his boots down on toad stools, until he'd reached the source of the sound.

He got there just as one of the deputies came in from the other side. And what they saw was Morgan.

Lying in a bog.

Fortunately the water only seemed to be a few inches deep, but Derek had clearly had the wind knocked out of him. So Hotch quickly braced his own footing to reach down and yank him up.

The deputy pushed on his back from the other side.

Once Morgan was upright again . . . now actually shivering in the frigid air . . . Hotch reached out with his gloved finger, to tip his chin back

"Are you all right?" He asked worriedly, running his flashlight around the younger man's face, looking for spots of blood around his skull, "you didn't hit your head or suck in any of that water, did you?"

It was stagnant, so if he'd sucked any of it down, he'd probably need his stomach pumped.

"No," Derek simultaneously shook his head while scowling down at the log he'd tripped over, "no, I'm fine. Just a little damp."

"All right then you . . ."

Before Hotch could even get the order out, Morgan had cut him off.

"No, Hotch, I _don't_ need to go back, I'm fine. I only got my gloves," he shook his hands out to the side to shake off the excess water, "and the front of my jacket wet. I'll dry out soon enough."

It was more the humiliation of the whole thing that was pissing him off. Not only had he tripped and fallen in front of a crowd . . . of fellow law enforcement no less . . . but also that Hotch was now fussing over him. Yes, he appreciated the concern, but in front of _strangers_, having 'mom' poke and prod you for injuries . . . as Hotch was doing now, he was checking a small tear in his jacket sleeve . . . was REALLY embarrassing.

And then Hotch began pulling dry gloves and an extra hat from his bag, and Morgan SERIOUSLY wanted to crawl into a hole and die! But unfortunately, he really did NEED the dry gloves and the extra hat . . . his gloves were soaked, and his hat had gotten splashed . . . so he took them from Hotch with a begrudging, "thanks man."

Hotch . . . of course . . . seemed oblivious to his discomfort. His only concern was for Derek's well-being, and again Derek _did_ appreciate that, but he really just wanted to get back to work. But then fortunately, God love her for the distraction, Emily came up from the side, telling Hotch that Rossi was asking for him.

That they thought they'd found another set of bones.

So after another quick, visual, once over from their boss, Hotch finally threw his pack back over his shoulder and turned away.

"Where are they?" He asked with that same gruff tone that belied the fact that the man had the same soft center as a chocolate covered marshmallow.

But as long as the marshmallow was now distracted with other things . . . and Emily was walking him off to the west, while flashing him a little wave behind her back . . . Morgan took a breath, shoved his wet hat and gloves into a plastic evidence bag he had in his pocket, and jammed the whole lumpy mess into his own backpack. A pack that had previously just held water, protein bars, bug spray and _plastic_ gloves. Next time they went on a hike, he was definitely packing his own spare winter gloves.

And maybe an extra windbreaker.

It was fucking cold!

Either way though, those were plans for another case. For today he just tried to muster up a bit of dignity before taking another breath, and then carefully following after the trail of flashlights he could see bouncing ahead of him.

It was going to be a long evening.

/*/*/*/*/

Once the group finally arrived at the taped off crime scene . . . literally the tape was wound through the trees . . . the team began to walk the outside of that grid. Though they'd given some cursory review of the bodies themselves, there wasn't too much they could tell given their conditions.

The animals had gotten to them.

So Hotch and the others left the State Police to begin working on the excavation, while they looked for other clues. Sometimes it was just helpful to study the area where a killer left his victims. These woods could mean something to him personally. Maybe he had a history in the area.

Or maybe the victims did.

You never could tell what might be important.

But then suddenly they got an unexpected coup.

In the glow of her mag light, some fifteen feet outside the yellow tape, Emily ended up spotting a half buried license sticking out from under a rotted oak. It belonged to a twenty-six year old white male, named Jeffrey Thompson from Versailles, Kentucky.

He was probably on somebody's missing person's list.

That was one good piece of evidence. But then in addition to the license, they began to find other things. A muddied, half rotten Nike high top, size ten. A scrap of filthy blue plaid flannel, and a pair of broken sunglasses. All of it was likely spread out by the animals that had been feeding. But the license was by far their best lead.

It was the only personally identifiable piece of evidence.

So by the time they began their trek out of the woods, three hours after they'd walked in, Emily was feeling much better about herself, and her abilities, than she had when Hotch was doing triage on her frozen fingertips.

And wouldn't you know, those hand warmers that he'd given her, worked like tiny little toasters inside her gloves.

They were amazing!

Still though, at the point where they arrived back at the SUV, the entire team onsite, all had a noticeable shiver going. That was to be expected though. When they'd finally started their hike back out, the sun had already been gone completely for almost two hours.

It had never thrown them much light, but it at least had been throwing some warmth out into the atmosphere.

But now even that smattering of warmth was gone. The temperature had dropped _significantly_ over the last sixty plus minutes.

It was probably well into the teens now.

And Morgan . . . now two hours post his dip into the stagnant bog water . . . was NOT doing well with the cold air. So after they'd all piled into the SUV and Hotch cranked up the heat, Emily leaned over the back seat to pull out the wool blankets that were kept folded up with the other emergency supplies in the storage area. Of course when Derek saw her moving to give him one, he tried to pretend like he was too cool for, 'warmth.'

"No, no, girl, I'm fine," was the dismissive huff.

But he was seriously shaking like a gyrating washing machine. The jackass was going to get hypothermia.

So Emily ignored his male idiocy, opting instead to just roll her eyes and throw one blanket into his lap, before she leaned over to wrap one around his chest. Then, just for good measure, she dropped an FBI ball cap on over his knit ski cap.

And hearing him chatter out a grunt that sounded _vaguely_ like, "thanks," she gave back a nod of acknowledgment.

Then she busied herself with pulling on her seatbelt.

And though Morgan had claimed that he didn't need the blankets, Emily huffed slightly to herself when she noticed that he made no effort to throw them off. And now that they had returned to an artificially heated area, she was personally feeling just fine. Especially with the little hand warmers in her gloves.

But then suddenly Morgan slid over and offered her half of his blanket, "to share."

She didn't really need to share though. Again, _she_ was fine. But given the way Derek was shaking, while still trying to pretend that he wasn't, Emily was pretty sure that basically he was offering to "share," because he wanted to get a little body heat in return. So with a muffled sigh . . . God forbid he just ASK her for assistance . . . she obliged his caveman machismo. Which meant that instead of vocally pointing out that, "this is what you get for rushing ahead of the group and falling into a half frozen bog of bacteria laden water," she wrapped herself around his side and started rubbing her hands up and down his chest and arms. Then she muttered that if Garcia was there she'd probably be calling him her, "Chocolate Fudgesicle."

That elicited a chuckle of laughter from Dave.

Morgan just grunted a threat of some kind.

But Emily ignored that to continue to rub him down under the blanket. And by the time they got back to the police station in Douglas, he'd pretty much stopped shaking. It was just the occasional shiver that seemed to run down his spine. So, he'd live.

For today at least.

And God willing, many more days after that.

But given how physically strenuous the trek out to the bodies had been, and that it was now well after ten pm, Hotch decided that it was too late, and the day had already been too long, to bother trying to walk through things as they'd planned. Because as he pointed out, as far as they knew, nobody was being held captive at that time, so there was no reason to kill themselves working into the night, if they could just get some rest and start a fresh review of the facts in the morning.

Nobody made a peep of a counterargument.

So after they'd logged in the evidence they'd found, and did a once over read through of the region's missing persons status that JJ and Reid had collected . . . a heartbreaking number . . . they all snatched up their bags and headed back to the Super 8 across town.

Though not before a quick stop at the McDonald's drive-thru to grab some dinner to eat in their rooms.

And with their six GIANT bags of food . . . none of them had eaten anything since protein bars on the jet that afternoon . . . they trudged through the motel lobby like a pride of weary lions, to head up to the rooms they'd quickly dropped their ready bags into when they'd arrived a little after four.

The elevator ride up, was silent.

And then they did their team's version of ,"good night John Boy," as they stepped off the car and broke off to go to their separate, rented, domiciles. Emily's was at the far end of the left wing, Hotch's was half way down on the opposite side.

JJ and Reid were both jammed in somewhere between them.

She gave the younger two team members a last wave goodbye as they disappeared through their doorways.

But it wasn't until a few minutes after she'd entered her own room, that Emily realized . . . to her SERIOUS dismay(!) . . . that she no longer had the same white bag that she'd seen the two of them disappear through their doors with. And that's when she suddenly flashed on placing her own bag down on the hood of the SUV. One of the laces had come loose on her hiking boots. She'd stopped to tie it.

And now she had no dinner.

Crap!

Because at that point, she'd already pulled off her turtleneck and sweater, yanked off the boots, shimmied out of her jeans, and was about to unhook her bra, so she REALLY wasn't in the mood to pull all of those clothes back on, and head back outside again.

But unfortunately . . . she thought with a pout . . . she was also still STARVING! So she was going to HAVE to pull all of her clothes back on and head back outside again. Otherwise all she was going to have to eat, was the freaking complimentary Andes mint sitting on her pillow.

And she was just about to, begrudgingly, lean down to pick up her jeans when suddenly another thought . . . really another _face_, an adorable one . . . popped into her head.

Hotch!

Her eyes crinkled. Sweetie that he was, he'd go down and get her dinner for her! Hell, he'd probably go out and BUY her another dinner, if she asked him to. He was just that good to her. But in the meantime . . . her gaze bounced around the room . . . where had she dropped her phone? Because the sooner she called him, the sooner her poor lonely French fries would be removed from the frigid night air.

And that's when she heard a knock on the door.

Her eyebrow inched up as she walked over to pick up her gun off the ugly flowered comforter. Though it was likely somebody from the team who was knocking, you never could be too careful.

Especially when you were just in your underwear.

But after she was once more armed, Emily was feeling much more confident.

Even if she was still pantsless.

So she walked over to check the peephole. And . . . her eyes crinkled . . . ah, of course! Her knight in coal black armor . . . with her missing bag of food already in hand!

Good boy!

She quickly turned the locks, and whipped open the door.

"Hey," she grinned even as she stepped back to let him inside, "you found my dinner!"

"Uh yeah," Hotch looked down at the bag in his hand, "I saw you put it down, and I figured you'd forget it so I tucked it in with my food."

"Heh," Emily huffed, "you know me so well." Then she reached out to tug on his sleeve. "But at least now we can eat together," she continued happily.

After a split second's hesitation, not really long enough for Emily to notice that he'd hesitated at all, Hotch took a step over the threshold. He was eyeing her black bra and matching underwear both appreciatively, and faintly suspiciously . . . before his eyes snapped back up to hers.

"Are you sure I'm not intruding?"

"Huh?" Emily's face scrunched up. "How could you be intruding?" Then another question popped into her head.

One which she asked with no small amount of confusion.

"What would make you think that?" she asked while simultaneously inching him to the side so she could knock the door shut with her hip.

"Oh, I don't know," Hotch's eyebrow inched up slightly as he walked over to drop the overloaded McDonald's bag down on the dresser, "perhaps your _blanket buddy_ might be coming over for another warm up session."

Okay, that came out VERY bitchy! And was not at ALL how he'd planned to approach this conversation.

_Very smooth Aaron, he thought with disgust, VERY smooth!_

For a second Emily stared back at Hotch, wide eyed, in complete confusion. But then suddenly the meaning of, "_blanket buddy,_" clicked . . . and then she was staring at him in complete disbelief. That only lasted a second.

Then she just burst out laughing.

"MORGAN?!" she cackled, "you think I'm waiting for MORGAN?! Derek Morgan, the nicely built gentleman down the hall who never met a moving object that he didn't tackle or a reflective surface that he didn't stop and check his teeth in, that Derek Morgan?" She threw her hands up, "Seriously Hotch, have you LOST your freaking mind?!"

God, what the hell frigging brain cells had he frozen off out there in the woods?!

At Emily's EXTREMELY vocal dismissal of his casual inquiry about Derek's potential for arrival, Hotch started to realize that perhaps the burn of jealousy that he'd been feeling ever since he'd seen Emily in the rearview mirror cuddled up with Derek, might have been _slightly_ misplaced.

And then she leaned up to give him a kiss, while murmuring, "you're adorable when you're being a complete idiot," and he did actually start to kind of feel like a total moron.

But when she pulled back and suddenly popped off her bra, his ignorance reached new bounds. Now he didn't know WHAT the hell was going on! But seeing those gorgeous curves appear for no discernible reason, definitely perked up his mood!

Among other things!

"See these," Emily slowly pointed back and forth between her bare breasts, "your new best friends that you made the other night? Well, in case it wasn't clear to some little goofy part of your man brain, they're JUST your friends, nobody else gets to come over and play with them anymore. And certainly not," she rolled her eyes, "Derek Morgan! God Hotch," she made a face, "he's like my brother! That's just gross!"

After another shiver of disgust . . . that was SERIOUSLY incestual talk right there(!) . . . she walked over to pick up the McDonald's bag off the dresser. After she separated her bag of food out from Hotch's, she turned back around with just the one bag now in hand.

"Now come on," she simultaneously popped a fry into her mouth while tipping her head towards the double bed, "let's go sit down and eat. And if you're a good boy," she smirked, "and stop being a total goofball thinking that I would EVER flirt with anyone else while we were dating, let alone _Derek_, again, gag, then maybe I'll keep my shirt off so that you can play with your new friends, once we're done eating. Okay?"

Though some women might have been turned off, or at least annoyed, at Hotch's obvious jealousy, Emily found it too funny to get mad at him. Yeah, obviously if he was a controlling jerk, that would NOT be funny. But if she squinted a bit, she could sort of KIND of see how her snuggled up with another guy under a blanket, would, under 'general circumstances,' have been an event worthy of raised eyebrows.

But again, under THESE circumstances, she was snuggled up with MORGAN! Who had fallen into a puddle and could have frozen to death!

It was snuggling for medicinal purposes!

Hence Hotch being a doofus. An adorable doofus, but a doofus nonetheless. And she could see him now, staring at her, trying to keep a straight face as she stood there topless, munching on her French fries. Finally his mouth began to quiver.

"You look like one of those Carl's Junior commercials," he snorted. "Though I think you're wearing more clothes than those women usually do." Then he took two steps forward to pull her into a hug.

She let him.

"I'm sorry for being snippy," he whispered in her ear as he rubbed his hand down her bare back, "and I'm sorry for getting jealous. I'll try not to let it happen again."

Of course _intellectually _he knew that Emily wouldn't actually 'cheat' on him . . . she had better character than that . . . but he couldn't deny that he was really thrown when he saw her, 'fluffing Morgan's blanket.' And regardless of her state of dress, or undress, he really wasn't quite sure how he would have reacted if he'd come over to find her CONTINUING to fluff Morgan's blanket for him!

ALL under the blanket activities should be restricted to JUST him!

And then he felt Emily huff against his neck.

"Given that you're the dominant alpha even in total alpha situations, I'm going to call fat chance on the jealousy pledge," she murmured with a touch of amusement, "but if you actually get jealous of _Derek_ again, or really any of the guys on the team, then I might have to consider your mental infirmity as grounds to break up with you."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he pulled back.

"Noted," he whispered. But then he quickly sobered, as he reached up to brush his finger down her cheek.

"You know that I trust you Emily, I do, but seeing you with Derek like that, it really did bother me. And I know, or," he rolled his eyes slightly, "I should say _thinking_ about it, I can see that is kind of dumb, but I can't help it. I mean," he shrugged, "how would you feel if you saw me like that with JJ?"

For a second Emily stared back at him with no expression . . . and then she frowned.

"I don't think I'd like that very much at all."

It would probably REALLY bother her, if she saw him snuggled up with anyone. Especially a cute, young blonde.

Even if was JJ.

And seeing Hotch's look of relief . . . that she didn't think he was a complete lunatic . . . Emily gave him a soft smile.

"I guess I haven't quite mentally adjusted yet to us being coupled up. Because you know two months ago if I'd tried to help him warm up that way, you would have obviously known that it was nothing, and you wouldn't have cared at all."

"Right," Hotch quickly cut in, "but _now_," he brushed his hand along the curve of her breast, "I obviously DO care who you share blankets with. He was just cold, not injured. And I don't want to be a jerk, I just," he rolled his eyes, "well, not to sound Tarzan'ish, but we are together. Maybe not necessarily to death do us apart together, but for the foreseeable future, I'm yours and you're mine and it's not out of line to feel some visceral discomfort at an encroachment on those physical borders, right?"

It had been a long time since he'd felt an emotion as base and primal as pure jealousy. And he didn't enjoy it, that was for sure . . . but he also couldn't control it either.

Not until he got another few thousand years of evolution under his belt.

God, he just wanted his girlfriend to not climb under the covers with ANY other men, that wasn't so terrible, was it?!

"No," Emily's expression softened, "no, that's not out of line at all. I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive to that. And I shouldn't have laughed at you."

Then she pouted.

"Are we good now?" Her lip quirked up. "Because I'd really like to finish my French fries before they get as cold as Morgan in the SUV."

Hotch's mouth quivered.

"Yeah, we're good." He tipped his head towards the bed, "climb up. I'll be right over."

After Emily smacked a quick kiss on his lips, she walked over and hopped up on the mattress with her bag full of French fries and quarter pounders. And as Hotch looked at her there, beautiful breasts bouncing as she settled back against the headboard with a fry hanging out of her mouth, he couldn't help but smile.

The epitome of every man's fantasy, and there she was waiting for him to come join her.

And he definitely didn't want to keep her waiting, so he quickly kicked off his boots, and pulled off his sweater and tossed it over the chair where she'd thrown her bra. A second later his turtleneck joined the rest of the winter ware. And with him now just in his jeans and a t-shirt with his gun on his hip, he picked up his own bag of food off the dresser, and walked over to join Emily on the bed.

And as he settled next to her against the headboard and pulled out his chicken sandwich, she flipped on the TV with the hand that wasn't holding her burger.

At that time of night . . . not even eleven . . . in that part of the country . . . far above the middle of nowhere . . . there was nothing on the local channels. Literally, they were already into the infomercials. But fortunately their motel did come with basic cable. And after chomping down another bite of her sandwich, Emily began flipping the channels up higher and higher until she finally got to the Turner Classics.

They were playing something with Jimmy Stewart. It's wasn't as good as Cary Grant.

But it was good enough.

So she dropped the remote down onto the nightstand, next to the lamp, and turned her attention back to the giant cheeseburger in her hand. Within a minute she'd finishing scarfing it down with half of her diet coke.

By the time she was down to crumpling her wax paper to throw a three pointer across the bed and over to the trash can, she saw that Hotch was doing the same. So after they'd whipped their sandwich wrappers across the room . . . Hotch made the bucket, she bounced off the rim . . . Hotch combined their remaining fries into just one bag. Then he tore down the edges, rolling them inwards, to improvise a small bowl. Once that was done, he tugged Emily over into his lap.

He handed her the origami dinnerware.

And with her continuing to pop their cooling fries into her mouth, his hands slowly inched around to begin gently stroking and caressing those beautiful breasts. Emily was right.

They were really his two new best friends.

And he got to play with his new friends, all while they continued to watch Jimmy Stewart chasing Katherine Hepburn around town. And when Emily leaned back and tucked her head under his chin with a happy sigh, Hotch started to wonder just what ridiculous lottery that he'd won, that it was now totally normal for him to be able to play with bare breasts while he watched TELEVISION! He couldn't even remember if HALEY had ever let him do that! But he was seriously leaning towards a no.

And then he heard Emily murmur, "that feels really nice."

He tipped his head down to kiss her bare shoulder.

"You're not getting cold," he whispered as his thumbs moved up to gently stroke over her nipples. But she shook her head.

"Not really," she snuggled back a bit more and wound her legs through his, "not with you wrapped around me." Then she tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Can you sleep over?"

His brow inched up.

"You mean sleep, sleep?" He asked. And she nodded.

"Yeah, just sleep. I'd like to mean _not_ sleep, but I know that we shouldn't have sex on the road. So I think just sleep, sleep would be good too," she tipped her head back again to look up at him with a little smile, "I had good dreams the other night."

His eyes crinkled.

"I did too actually. I slept better than I had in a long time. I'd sort of chalked it up to the sex, but you're right," he tipped his head, "maybe it was just being close." His gaze shifted over to the alarm clock by the bed. "And I guess if I set the alarm to get up a little earlier to make sure I don't run into anybody in the hall, then I could stay."

Five-thirty should do it. He only had to walk like ten paces down to his room. He just didn't want to run into Morgan returning from a run or something. But he was actually sleeping on the other wing, so that was unlikely to be a problem.

"Excellent," Emily gave him a brilliant grin as she lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of his knuckles. "Now," she rubbed her hand down his chest, "why don't you strip and give me this t-shirt to wear for bed?"

He started to laugh.

"Are you going to steal all my clothes?" He asked with an amused huff.

"No," she leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, "just your t-shirts. And I'm not stealing this one," her lip quirked up, "I'm only requesting a loan for this evening because I can't very well sleep mostly naked, if we just agreed not to have sex." She rolled her eyes, "I'd kind of be sending mixed signals."

"Hmph," Hotch's mouth quivered as he looked down at her perky breasts so prominently on display, "well, I can think of worse signals to send. But," he leaned forward a bit and twisted around to yank off his shirt, "I guess I can give you a loan for the evening." Then he continued with a faint smirk while pulling the warm cotton down over her head, "after all, it is the gentlemanly thing to do."

"It is," Emily nodded as she slipped her arms through the sleeves, "and I promise," her head popped through the top, "that once we get home, I will properly thank you for being such a fine gentleman, by engaging in some very UNladlylike activity."

He chuckled.

"Promises, promises." Then his eyebrow inched up, "you good now?"

"Yep," she smoothed down the front of the material as she settled back against his chest again, "perfect. Do you need to take a shower or anything?"

Though they often showered when they returned to their rooms just to get the scent of decay off them, on this day they hadn't spent too much time close to the bodies themselves. And given that most of the bodies had reached skeletal stage . . . and the temperatures had been low . . . the smell hadn't been as 'clingy' as it usually was. Or maybe they were just used to it now.

Which would be kind of sad.

But either way, hearing Hotch's murmured, "no, I'm good," Emily just settled back against his chest again. And once he'd turned off the lamps by the bed, the room was bathed in just the soft grey light coming from the television. Emily lifted up his hand to press a kiss to his palm.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your t-shirt," she whispered.

"No problem," Hotch murmured back with a light tweak to her left nipple, "thanks for letting me play with your breasts." And she started to giggle as she swatted at his hand.

"Just watch the movie!"

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Yes, ma'am."

Then he tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.

_Life was good._

* * *

_A/N 2: Nothing else today. Thanks._


	7. A Butthead In the Boudoir

**Author's Note**: Picking up the next afternoon.

* * *

**TV Prompt Set #62 (July 2014)**

Show: Married With Children

Challenge: Where's the Boss

* * *

**A Butthead in the Boudoir**

Emily turned away from the white board, trying to spot Hotch across the small bullpen of the Douglas Police Station.

In theory this should have been a relatively easy task, given that officially there were only twelve municipal employees. But at the moment they had that original dozen, plus the BAU, and also a separate contingency each from the State Police and the State Medical Examiner. Everyone had staked out their own area of the station house, and with so many people in such a small area, it was hard to find one face.

So for a little assistance, Emily turned to Dave sitting at one of the computer stations a few feet away from her.

"Hey Dave," she called out over the low din surrounding them, "have you seen Aa . . . Hotch?"

Dave spun his chair around.

"Are you inquiring as to the whereabouts of _our_ Hotch, or just _a_, Hotch?" He responded drily, "because it sounded like you're just looking for a, Hotch."

"Yeah," Emily scowled, "helpful as always Dave, thanks."

Jackass. Which was the EXACT reason why she'd stopped herself from referring to Aaron, _as_ AARON, in the first place! Given that nobody on the team (except for Dave, ironically) had ever called Aaron Hotchner anything but, "Hotch," her use of his given name would have not only resulted in a smart ass remark (which she got anyway) but also a raised eyebrow.

And God knew that they didn't need David Rossi raising any eyebrows in their direction!

But then she saw Dave chuckling back at her, so he figured he was going to let it go for now.

"He's out in one of the conference rooms," Dave jerked his thumb to the left, "said he couldn't think with the noise out here."

"Hmm," Emily's brow wrinkled, "okay, thanks."

And with that, she dropped her marker down on the table and cut through the bullpen to reach the back corridor of the station. Basically the place was built like a medium size T with the bullpen and main offices on the top bar, and the conference areas and rest rooms off the lower one. So once she got past the ladies room, (the start of the lower bar) she slowed down, her eyes bouncing from side to side as she tried to see where it was that Hotch had holed himself up.

And . . . her eyes widened when she caught sight of him through a half closed door . . . yes, there he was. Conference room C. With what she could see as she walked closer, his case file broken apart and spread all out on the table in front of him. So she leaned through the doorway.

"Hey, how you doing stranger?" She called out softly.

The "stranger" was because it was now after almost four pm, and they'd hardly seen one other since they'd woken up early that morning, curled together in her bed. That was their last "personal" moment of the day. Because by seven am, she'd already headed off to spend the next seven plus hours with Morgan in one part of the county, while Hotch had been off with Dave in another. There had been death notifications for everyone to oversee.

It sucked.

Hearing Emily's voice cut through the fog his brain was settling into, Hotch's head snapped up. And seeing her pretty face for the first time in over an hour, his lips twisted in a faint, tired, smile.

"Hi, what's up?"

"Well," she stepped into the small room and closed the door behind her, "nothing new with the case, just wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee with me? And maybe a bite to eat? There's some place called Lindy's down off the main road." Her eyebrow quirked up hopefully. "It's supposed to have the best cup of joe in town."

When trying to entice Hotch into taking a break of any length, tempting him with caffeine was always a safe bet.

The man loved his coffee.

"Uh," Hotch stared up at Emily, wide eyed, before his gaze shifted back down to his dismembered case file. Then it bounced back over to Emily again.

And he was about to say no, thanks, that he needed to stay, but then he looked at his watch and realized that it was almost four. And it had been a long day, and at least a good five hours since he'd last taken a break. So coffee, and maybe a sandwich, were sounding pretty good right about then.

Really though . . . his expression softened slightly . . . just spending a few minutes alone with Emily sounded even better.

So instead of doing his usual, 'working himself to the point of virtual collapse,' he nodded his assent to her invitation.

"Yeah," he quickly started shuffling his papers back into one stack, "yeah, I'll go. I could use the break."

And after Hotch had pulled his file back together, he stood up, and started walking along the length of the conference table. When he reached Emily standing on the other end, he stopped and looked down at her. He was so close, that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

"What is it?" She asked softly, with a faint bit of confusion.

For a second he just stared, without saying anything in response. Finally though, he gave a slow shake of his head.

"Nothing," he murmured back, while brushing his fingers along the curve of her cheek, "just happy that you're here."

It had been a hard day complete with two death notifications on his part, and a pending list of at least seven more to go. Fortunately his people didn't have to attend/make, all of the notifications themselves, but for the ones in the area, they did need to gather what relatively 'fresh' information that they could from the victims' friends and family.

Which meant that it was better for the investigation on the whole, if at least one member of the team _was_ present each time the next of kin were notified.

Though this was a logical investigative technique in theory, in _practice_, well, to borrow a term from Emily . . . it sucked. Being immersed in so much raw grief and misery, was not only depressing, but emotionally _exhausting _as well_._

Worst still, he'd been separated from Emily all day.

He'd had her working with Morgan doing notifications in one section of the county, and he'd been off with Dave doing the same in the other. And he'd done that, purposely, just to prove to himself (and to Emily really, whether or not she was consciously aware of it) that he had no lingering jealousy over the relationship between the other two. Now, granted, perhaps it was _just_ as unprofessional to set partnerships based on NON jealousy, as it was _actual_ jealousy, but that was a minor ethics quibble that really meant nothing to anyone but himself.

Hence his decision to do what he'd done.

And though he wanted to steal a quick kiss now from those pouty lips just a few millimeters away, that would be just a tad _too_ unprofessional for on-duty behavior in the middle of a police station. So with a faint sigh, and a wistful smile, his hand fell down from Emily's cheek, and back to his side.

"Let's go get the hell out of here," he said softy.

He could steal a kiss . . . or two . . . on the road.

Emily's lip quirked up.

"K."

And she reached out to put her hand on the doorknob, but then immediately turned to look back at Hotch over her shoulder.

"Do you think it's terribly impolite not to ask anybody if they want to go with us?" She asked with a faint scrunching of her nose.

Though in the past she would have been more likely to do a group, "hey who wants to take a sandwich run," today she didn't feel like it. Really, she just wanted to have a few quiet minutes alone with her man.

She'd missed him.

"No," Hotch's lips pursed, "it's fine. We'll bring back coffee and sandwiches for everyone." Then he waved his hand. "And obviously if anybody else wants to take a break, they know they're welcome to do so."

As a rule, he didn't police any of his staff's time in this area. When they were on the road, the team worked on average fifty-five, to sometimes up to seventy hours a week. So he certainly trusted everyone, as the responsible adults that they were, to determine for themselves when and for how often, they needed to step away from these soul sucking, cases. If anything, he was more likely to have to remind people to take a break if they were on a really bad one.

They'd work fifteen hours straight if he let them.

Which meant that he had no twinges of guilt when he and Emily slipped out of the conference room, and made a quick beeline for the back exit of the station, down at the far end of the hall.

Though the one problem with their quick, clandestine, escape from the building, was that they weren't able to go back for their coats in the bullpen. But fortunately they were wearing extra layers just to ward off the chill around the station house, so it wasn't quite such a shock to the system (at least to Hotch's system) when they walked outside into the thirty degree temperatures. Though he did see Emily in her turtleneck and wool cardigan, trying to force down a shiver, he himself was fine wearing just his t-shirt, turtleneck, and black suede zip up.

But in deference to his girls' inability to hold a human body temperature, he quickly pulled the keys from his pocket, while putting his hand on her back.

"Just at the back of the lot, Prentiss," he murmured while hurrying her along, "third from the end."

"I might need one of Morgan's warming blankets when we get there," she chattered back, "it's fricking freezing out here."

It actually felt like snow. And it was only March, which meant that the white stuff certainly wouldn't be out of the question for that part of the country, at that time of the year.

So with her casting one baleful eye up to the slate colored sky, Emily and Hotch double timed it down to the SUV. Once inside, both of their doors slammed shut, and after he'd hit the locks, Hotch twisted to reach behind them and grab one of the, 'Morgan warming blankets,' in question, off the backseat.

The three he'd used the night before, were now folded up in a neat pile back there.

"Here you go sweetheart," he murmured while leaning over to wrap her up, "you can even wear it in the coffee shop if you like." His lip quirked up as he rubbed his hand down her arm, "you can pretend it's a cape."

"Yeah," she chuckled, "maybe." Then she shot him a wink. "Because you know if I add a cape in with my badge and gun, I'll FINALLY achieve official super hero status."

Which was all she really wanted to be as a child . . . Wonder Woman.

Feeling his eyes crinkle slightly, Hotch pulled back to put the key in the ignition.

"Well," he murmured while turning the small piece of metal, "you were already a super hero in my book."

To which Emily snorted in disbelief. "Wow! That is the _sappiest_ thing you've ever said to me!"

And his head spun around as his eyebrow shot up.

_What the hell?!_

Though Emily would have stood by her response . . . that really WAS the sappiest thing Hotch had ever said to her(!) . . . seeing the raised eyebrow she was now receiving for the derision, she immediately sobered up.

Shit. He was actually being nice . . . she bit her lip . . . and now she was coming off as a complete bitch.

Great.

And now feeling a wave of shame for being so flippant, when it was clear that she'd hurt his feelings, she slipped her hand out from under the blanket to reach over and squeeze his knee.

"I'm sorry," she pouted, "you were being sweet, and that was very rude of me. But you know I don't usually go out with the nice guys, and I guess I'm a little out of the habit of, uh, well," she bit her lip, "compliments. But," she leaned over to brush her thumb along his lips, "I am sorry, and once we're totally alone," her lip quirked up, "I'll give you a way better apology, okay?"

"Hmph," he grunted, "I suppose that would be acceptable."

Though for a second Emily was worried by Hotch's tone that he was still irritated with her, then he shot her a wink and a faint smile, and she sighed in relief.

Thank God she hadn't screwed things up AGAIN, with her horrible relationship skills! She really needed to go to a class or a seminar. "_How Not To Be A Butthead in the Boudoir, 101," _or something like that. Really just some guidelines to help her NOT stick her foot into her mouth on a DAILY basis! She'd done it last night over the blanket thing, and now again this afternoon when he was just being a sweetie. Her expression softened as she felt another dig in her gut.

And he really was _such_ a sweetie, that sometimes (like in these exact moments) she was absolutely positive that she didn't deserve him. But crazy man that he was, he did seem to be getting pretty attached to her.

Just as she was with him.

And she would just HATE herself, if her stupid little bumbles started genuinely causing a problem for them. After all, how many days, _IN A ROW(!) _would she put up with a guy being a complete bonehead?!

Yeah, exactly!

So after they pulled out of the municipal lot, and turned onto the main street of the town, Emily tentatively reached over to catch Hotch's free hand. And feeling him immediately lace their fingers together, she let out a sigh of relief as she pulled their joined hands over to her lap.

Though Hotch didn't say anything in response to her actions, looking at his profile, she could see his lip quirk up slightly.

And knowing then that she was definitely, _completely_, forgiven for her butthead'edness, she gave a happy sigh while settling back in her seat.

_Cleared one more bump in the road._

Then they were both quiet for a few minutes while they traveled through the small town. Hotch seemed to know exactly where he was going (he usually did) so Emily just leaned back to note of the few shops that seemed to be considered the "center" of town. By her experience, it was the usual for a middling size town like this. And that would be, two chain drugstores, (both open twenty-four hours), a pawn shop, a liquor store, a sad little bakery, a Domino's Pizza (delivery only), a Dollar Tree, and a couple of thrift shops. Those seemed to be the highlights.

Or low lights, as the case may be.

Not that anybody actually needed to buy anything at the moment, but they never knew how long they were going to be stuck anywhere. Once they were pinned down in rural Arkansas for EIGHT days! Talk about hell. And then JJ had broken the heel off her one pain of good boots that she'd brought with her. That was in a tiny ghost town with no shoe or department stores left in it. Even the closest Wal-Mart . . . the pride and joy of the great state of Arkansas . . . had been forty-two miles away. So with no other work shoes to wear, Emily had to help JJ dig through the discarded shoe bin, at the local Salvation Army.

It was not a fun evening.

And if this was all there was to choose from here in Douglas, Emily was seriously praying for no shoe mishaps on this trip. She was not up for another shoe dive.

She'd had to take a full shower by the time they got back to the motel!

Just then Emily was pulled from her memories by what she considered to be a mecca in these small American towns.

The greasy spoon diner.

They were a semi-dying breed in the big cities, but could definitely still be found in most of the places where serial killers liked to dump bodies.

AKA, out in the middle of nowhere.

And feeling a little twinge of excitement at the brightly lit red neon of Lindy's sign, Emily squeezed Hotch's fingers.

"Aaron," she used her free hand to point, "on the left there."

"Yep," he murmured while tapping the directional, "I see it."

Once Hotch turned into the semi-full parking lot . . . it was coming up four pm, probably early bird specials going on . . . he pulled into a space down behind the diner itself. Though there were parking spots out in the front, he was looking for a tiny smidgen of privacy.

Not a lot . . . he turned off the ignition . . . just enough to properly decompress with his girlfriend. And after he unsnapped his seatbelt, he leaned over the front seat, put his hand on her hip . . . pressed his lips to hers . . . and did just that.

When he pulled back a minute later, his eyes crinkled slightly as he ran his tongue across his lower lip.

"You taste like peaches today," his eyebrow quirked up, "new lip gloss?"

She laughed.

"Yeah," Emily reached up to touch the corner of her own lip, "Sephora lip balm. I got a sample and I was trying to decide if I liked it."

"Well," he reached over to fix her gloss where he'd smudged it, "I like it." Then he winked and turned to open his door.

Feeling a little spot of warmth in her belly, Emily stared after him as he got out and slammed the door shut. Though when she realized that she was sitting there mooning like an idiot, she shook her head slightly while turning to get her own door. And when she stepped down, Hotch was already there, walking up to her door.

He held his hand out, and she took it with a shy smile.

Then she leaned up and kissed him again.

They might have technically still been on-duty . . . they were never really 'off-duty' when they were on the road . . . but for these thirty-forty minutes, they were at the very least, 'alone,' so there was no reason that they had to pretend like they were simply colleagues.

That had been their default behavior at work since they'd started officially dating two weeks earlier.

And though there was no question about demonstrating complete professionalism _at_ work (Quantico), it still would be nice if (on rare occasion) they could downshift to these more personal interactions back home (again, Quantico) when they were alone. Like when they went on coffee breaks.

Or out to lunch.

But unfortunately they knew WAY too many people in that little government town, to EVER hold hands back in public back there. So it was nice to take advantage of a bit of this 'quality time' out here in the backwoods of Montana.

And when she broke the kiss in as many minutes, and fell back down to her flat feet, she saw Hotch giving her a soft smile.

"What was that for?" He whispered.

And her eyes crinkled as she brushed her thumb across his lips.

"Just because I can."

* * *

_A/N 2: I thought it was important for this universe, where there is actual, normal dating, that they do have some regular hiccups in the process. Because it's not like the other worlds where they've spent much personal time together before they jumped into the romantic stuff. He's coming DIRECTLY off the divorce, and she's still in her regular 1-3 date, average length of relationship, mode. So it would be odd if they didn't trip up regularly at first. If you recall from Girl proper, they did that pretty regularly when they were still just in friend mode, which eased the transition when they started the kissy face stuff. _

_Otherwise, not much happened here, obviously. But it's not a hard topic storyline, it's just about their 'courtship' so sometimes all that happens is, this :)_

_As a side point, I'm seeing how many universes I can pull in one more update before the year ends. I've got three lined up in the chamber, we'll see how many actually get shot across the bow by Wednesday._


End file.
